Cold War in a Coffee Shop
by julliet15
Summary: Natasha can hardly stand her new job at the coffee shop, and even less the annoyingly upbeat, big-muscled, and sexy blond man who's apparently a regular. Every morning he comes with the same old order, the same earnest blue eyes… Remind her again why she let Clint talk her into this job? Romanogers AU.
1. The Cold War Begins

**Before you begin reading this FanFiction, you have to understand that I am very confused when it comes to MCU shipping. After watching Captain America: The First Avenger, I simultaneously shipped and mourned for Steggy. After watching Avengers, I shipped Clintasha and Steve/Beth-the-waitress like nobody's business. Finally, after watching Captain America: The Winter Soldier, I start shipping Romanogers. These shipping shifts are reflected on my profile. Do you see my problem? The only consistency I've had in terms of shipping in this fandom is Pepperony. Always and always Pepperony. Anyway, this is a Coffee Shop AU featuring Romanogers, and Clintasha if you squint. Implied Pepperony to come in later chapters. Multi-chapters are a lot of work, but QuirkyRevelations encouraged me to pursue this anyway.**

**Warning: this fic has mild language**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, or, most unfortunately, Steve Rogers.**

* * *

Natasha couldn't remember the last time freshly brewed coffee smelled good to her. After she started working at the coffee shop, she breathed coffee fumes, spilled half-and-half until her hands were sticky, and snapped thousands of covers on coffee cups on a daily basis; meanwhile, she was making wages that not even a five-year-old would find sufficient for buying a candy bar. Clint, her co-worker and the only friend she had made in this crud-hole called a four-year university, smirked at her as she crinkled her nose at the dark liquid pooling at the bottom of the coffee pot. He knew how loathsome coffee had become to Natasha, but there was no way she was going to make it through the morning haul without at least a few sips of the stuff. Clint and Natasha, synchronized as they were in action and thought, still could barely handle the grumbles, growls, and yells coming from caffeine-starved morning customers. At the moment, however, they had just opened the place and the sun had not yet climbed high enough over the horizon for anyone to be walking in. A few minutes of precious peace...

Which was broken the moment that a six-foot man with dirty blond hair that flopped across the top of his head came jogging inside, causing the little golden bell at the top of the door to jingle. He was dressed in a way-too-tight light grey shirt that had a triangle of sweat from the neck down, along with navy blue sweatpants and a pair of dirty white sneakers. His eyes locked with Natasha's, and Natasha noted with indifference that they were a very bright blue that most girls would probably swoon over. A clattering sound of something Clint dropped caused Natasha to turn around and see Clint with an excited glint in his eyes. He murmured a quick "I got him" to Natasha, but just as he was sliding past her to reach the cash register, their boss called him from their stock room.

"Barton!" he barked furiously. "Where are the French Roast coffee beans?"

Clint groaned and spun his body around, allowing Natasha to see the annoyed expression on his face as he shouted back, "Same place they were yesterday, Nick!"

"I don't see 'em! Get in here!"

Clint's shoulder bumped against Natasha's as he stomped towards the stock room, while Natasha stared blankly at the customer. She knew she was supposed to smile prettily, like a good little employee who enjoyed slaving for cranky coffee-cravers, but frankly that just wasn't her style. Leave all the charming to Clint. The customer stood tip-toe and leaned to one side as if he were trying to look over Natasha to see the commotion behind her, but Natasha didn't think that necessary considering he had the height of the Empire State Building. He could probably see over the heads of 99% of the world population. Pushing the thought out of her head, she cleared her throat and directed an almost-glare at the customer, until he shifted his blue-eyed gaze to her.

"Are you going to order something?" she asked. "Or are you going to keep taking up half the space in this shop?"

Okay, so maybe that was a little rude, and it wasn't like this guy deserved it, but it was early morning. You had to cut her some slack. The customer clearly did, because he smiled apologetically at her and ordered a large black coffee without further comment. While she rang him up, a crash and several curses emanated from the stock room, but she didn't bother to check on them. Steve chuckled, which Natasha couldn't understand, because the way he did it made it seem like he was hearing his younger siblings fight over the last cookie in the jar. There was a familiarity in his laugh, something that recognized the muffled quarreling going on between her co-worker and boss.

"They still do that?" inquired the customer amusedly.

"Do _what_?" Natasha asked irritably.

"Fight about every detail of this coffee shop," answered the customer.

"Ugh!" groaned Natasha. "Yes. How would you know that?"

"I left for four weeks to go to Europe, I'm not dead. Didn't Clint tell you about me?"

"I think he was going to once he rang you up."

"Oh. Well, I guess all you need to know is that I'm a regular. Large black coffee every time."

"I can't be expected to remember everybody's special."

Natasha hated it when customers who came three thousand morning rushes ago assumed that she would remember their go-to drink. The worst kind of customers were, in Natasha's opinion, the ones who thought they were regulars when they really weren't. Natasha's thoughts about people like them clearly showed on her pursed lips and in the wrinkles between her finely sculpted eyebrows.

"You'll remember mine," assured the customer. "Every morning, right at this time, large black coffee."

"And here is your special order," announced Natasha, plunking the cup on the counter in front of him a few minutes later.

"Thanks, uh…" The customer squinted at her name tag. "Natasha."

"You're welcome," Natasha replied coolly.

The customer took his coffee and started on his way, briefly stopping to prop the door half-open with his foot and say a friendly "Bye!" He took a few spare seconds to see how the pretty, redheaded barista would respond, but it looked as if she didn't even hear him. He shrugged and let the door clang shut behind him right when Clint finally escaped from the stock room. Clint deflated a little when he realized that the customer had left, which _almost_ made Natasha smile in amusement.

"That your best friend or something?" she asked absent-mindedly.

"Nah," dismissed Clint. "I just hadn't seen him in a while and I would've liked to catch up."

"Who is he?"

"That's Steve Rogers, the captain of our football team. He's probably going to lead us to the championships this year."

Natasha scoffed. "You were looking forward to catching up with a blockheaded athlete?"

"That's stereotyping and you know it," retorted Clint. "Besides, he doesn't fit the bill. He's on the Dean's List."

"Whoop-dee-doo," drawled Natasha in a monotone voice as she waved her forefinger in the air.

Clint rolled his eyes. "Forget it, you're just gonna hate every customer who walks through that door."

"Now you get it!" Natasha exclaimed with mock enthusiasm.

* * *

Steve turned out to be a bona fide regular as he had claimed that first morning, as he continued coming every morning after that. Within the first few minutes of opening, jogging in would come an annoyingly cheerful Steve with the same outfit, the same flop of sweaty blond hair, and the same set of earbuds that he popped out of his ears the moment he was inside. Natasha rang him up while Clint poured the coffee into a large cup and struck up amiable conversation with Steve. The topics ranged from the monsters known as midterms, to the last football game, to Steve's trip abroad. "He's thinking of joining the Peace Corps after college," Clint had once informed Natasha, not that she cared. At all.

"So have you started working on the new logo for the shop?" Clint asked Steve one day as he slid the protective cover over the burning hot coffee cup.

Natasha couldn't help herself, try as she might to be as uninterested in their conversation as she always had; she looked up.

Steve stifled a groan as he massaged the bridge of his nose. "No, I've been spacing out so much on that. Between hard-ass Coach Miller and the demon Professor O'Reilly, I can barely squeeze in my coffee shop visits. I have some ideas, I just need to pen them down."

"Hey, I understand," assured Clint. "I know better than to rush an artist."

"You're an artist?"

Natasha's question came out as nonchalant as nearly everything else she had said in her life, but since it was still a question she hadn't meant to ask aloud, Natasha internally cringed. Clint and Steve both looked at Natasha with surprised expressions, as if they had forgotten she was even there; Steve recovered first.

"I guess I don't give off the starving artist vibe?" Steve asked, a corner of his mouth quirking upward.

"No," Natasha answered bluntly.

"Much to your surprise, I'm actually majoring in art."

Natasha quickly looked away from Steve's amused grin and scrubbed a crusty milk spill on the counter with a damp rag.

"That's _nice_," she said sarcastically through her teeth.

Clint moved the conversation on to something about the Queens or Kings or whatever the heck that hockey team was called, but Natasha could still feel Steve's gaze poking her incessantly. She blew her red bangs out of her eyes, and as she did so caught a glimpse of him leaning against the counter, his muscles bulging out of his shirt, and his inquisitive, uncertain eyes scanning her like she was a difficult calculus problem. Natasha sighed, swept her hair back, and went to the stock room before she could hear any more of Clint's incredibly boring droning about hockey. She wasn't avoiding Steve's maddening stare - you can't prove it.

* * *

The next day when Steve came in, he found Clint stacking cups behind the counter, while Natasha was distinctly missing from her post at the cash register. Clint looked up and nodded in greeting as a slightly disillusioned Steve approached the counter. Steve pushed a friendly smile onto his face, but Clint could see through it as easily as if it were made of glass.

"Sorry I don't have curly red hair or a cute ass," informed Clint sympathetically.

"Well turn around, maybe your ass is cute," joked Steve.

Steve was quick to counter, and Clint was impressed; he hadn't really seen that side of Steve before. This didn't mean he approved yet though. Natasha was Clint's closest friend, and he had become increasingly wary of the moment-too-long looks Steve kept giving her on the sly.

"So what are your intentions with Natasha?" Clint asked bluntly.

It was a good thing Steve hadn't got his coffee yet, or else he would have spat it all over Clint's face.

Several unintelligible squawking sounds, mixed with a few "uh's" and "um's," fell out of Steve's mouth before he replied, "N-nothing!"

"Because, you should know something about her," Clint continued, as if he hadn't just seen Steve verbally fall all over himself. "There's a reason she's called the Black Widow."

Steve had actually heard a few people refer to the sulky redhead at the coffee shop as the Black Widow, but he never knew why. He looked expectantly at Clint, who exhaled loudly and raked his dark blond hair with his long fingernails.

"She's called that because like the spider, she is known for, well, devouring the males of her species."

Steve raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

Clint sighed. "I guess what I'm trying to say is that you should be careful with her. She's not used to long-term relationships, and I'm sure you're not used to getting your heart broken."

"Think again," muttered Steve.

Clint paused. "I'm not wrong in thinking you're attracted to her, right?"

Steve bent his head down to hide his slightly flushed cheeks.

"So… why her?" Clint asked; it was the question that had been a maddening itch in the back of his mind for the past few weeks.

When Steve lifted his face back up, his eyes were glowing with an emotion that Clint couldn't identify.

Steve grinned at Clint and said, "Something inside her is worth knowing - you wouldn't be friends with her if there wasn't."

"That's true," admitted Clint as he drummed his fingers on the countertop, "but just so you know, if she really cares about you, she will shoot you down the moment you ask her out. That's what she did with me."

Steve blinked, and Clint enjoyed seeing the shock instantaneously rework his face.

"Yep," said Clint. "It was the best thing she could have done, because we certainly couldn't have been friends if I had gone the same track as all her boyfriends have. But hey…" Clint looked hard at Steve. "Maybe you're different. Maybe things would be different with you. I don't know, I make no promises, I wish you the best of luck. Now take your coffee and get outta here already."

* * *

Steve was going to do it. He was going to ask her out. Ever since he (regrettably) told his roommate Tony about the cute but cranky barista at the local coffee shop, Tony wouldn't stop going on about how he should just go for it.

_"You've got to get over that Penny girl," Tony insisted. "This is the perfect opportunity."_

_"Her name was Peggy," replied Steve tartly._

_"Whatever, you haven't seen her in years," brushed off Tony. "You need to find some fresh meat."_

_"Don't talk about girls like that," admonished Steve._

Honestly, Steve didn't know why he had willingly been living with Tony since freshman year - he was snarky, he was egotistical, he was disrespectful. But then, sometimes, Tony had those moments of glory that reminded Steve why they were close friends. One of them was the simple but hard-hitting speech Tony gave Steve that would motivate him to finally ask Natasha out.

_"Look, you like her, and I'm pretty sure she likes you," said Tony. "I get that it doesn't give you the 100% guarantee that you want, but no one has gotten that since dating was first invented - heck, not even_ _since_ life _was invented_._ You ask her, she might say yes, she might say no, and you move forward from there. It's that simple."_

_"Easy for the playboy to say," mumbled Steve, though in the end he knew Tony was right; he couldn't continue living in the grey area forever._

Steve kept replaying his conversation with Tony in his head, right up until he made it to the edge of the counter and finally looked up at the flashing green eyes of Natasha. She made - if it wasn't quite a smile, it certainly wasn't a frown like she made the first time he met her. It was progress. Since Clint was AWOL (Steve figured out the reason for it when he heard mutters from the stock room), Natasha was the one who filled his large cup to the brim with steaming dark liquid. Her brows were furrowed adorably in concentration (it was always a fear of hers that she would dump scalding coffee on her hand one of these days), and Steve watched her with a captivation he hadn't felt in a long time. A couple of springy copper curls had escaped from her sloppy bun and hung delicately around her oval face. Steve wanted nothing more than to reach over and tug on one of those curls - partly because he irrationally wondered if they would make a "boing!" sound, but also because he had a simple craving to touch her, subtly yet expressively at the same time.

When Natasha shoved the coffee into Steve's hands, he finally blurted, "Will you go out with me?"

Every atom of Natasha's body froze, and she could feel her brain cells electrocuting mid-thought as she watched Steve's eyes widen in embarrassment and anticipation. A squeak of a sneaker behind her alerted her to the fact that Clint had walked back into the room, but he had halted in one heart-stopping moment. All of their bodies were held in a breathless, motionless suspension that was only held together by the pulsating connection between Steve's shining blue eyes, and Natasha's stunned green eyes. Remembering a very similar conversation she had with Clint three years ago, Natasha knew what she had to say now, so that instead of breaking Steve's whole heart, she might only dent it for a moment.

Natasha plastered a thin smile on her face before she replied smoothly, "Sorry, but I don't date guys with bigger boobs than me."

A beat, and then the sound of Clint's snorting laughter being poorly masked behind his hand. She had successfully poked fun at Steve's especially large pecs, thus guaranteeing that Steve's wounded pride would prevent him from ever asking her out again (or at least, that's what Natasha hoped for his sake). Natasha's smile became a smirk, but Steve still couldn't find the will to break the tether between his eyes and hers. If Tony were there, he would have clapped Steve's back, muttered "Tough break, kid," and dragged him out to try to drown his sorrows with a movie marathon. If Clint hadn't been too busy gasping from too much laughter and too little oxygen, he would have smiled sympathetically. Neither of those two things mattered though, because if Clint was right, Natasha cared about Steve at least as much as she cared about Clint when she turned him down. For Steve, that moment, that pride-injuring and snark-injected moment where she both insulted and rejected him, was actually a pretty decent start.

* * *

**Wow, this is the longest single chapter I have ever written. Go me. In case you didn't catch it, Natasha and Clint's boss is Nick Fury. :P**


	2. Steve Bounces Back

**I've been tracking the Romanogers tag for too long on Tumblr. It's seeped into my brain, and I had to get some of it out by writing this chapter. I'm sooo torn between MCU ships, you have no idea.**

* * *

"Hey, Clint! Hey, Nat!" was the first thing the two baristas heard when Steve entered the previously quiet coffee shop.

When Natasha looked up, she saw as usual the sweat glistening on Steve's forehead, the friendly smile exposing pearly white teeth, and the eager cry for coffee in his excited blue eyes. The easygoing manner in which Steve trotted into the coffee shop made it seem like Natasha hadn't brutally crushed his pride the previous day - a fact which bothered Natasha immensely. When she had shot Clint down, he was quiet (and a little sullen) for a straight week, but this man sprang back up like a bouncy ball, almost as soon as she had thrown him down. Hearing the cheerful _Boing!_ instead of the typical _Splat!_ she heard after dealing with a man, Natasha was perplexed as to how to deal with Steve now. Thankfully she didn't have to figure it out, because before she could say anything, Steve slapped a flyer down on the counter and exclaimed, "They're showing my stuff at the gallery!"

"No way!" cried Clint. "They finally opened their eyes to your artistic genius?"

Steve rolled his eyes. "Aw well, I don't know if I'd call it _that_ - "

"Oh stop with the humility and tell me when's the opening night," interrupted Clint.

"Next Thursday night," answered Steve, looking at both Clint and Natasha. "So will you come?"

Clint grinned slyly at Natasha, slung an arm around her small shoulders, and replied, "We'll be there."

Steve looked inquiringly at Natasha until she subtly nodded; pleased, he widened his smile and asked, "So, may I have the usual?"

* * *

Natasha had the impression that one had to dress nice for an exhibition at an art gallery, so she put on a slim-fitting, midnight black dress, matching pumps, and small diamond earrings shaped like stars. Her dress had a silky skirt that swished around her knees and a sweetheart neckline that exposed the silver arrow necklace Clint had given her for her birthday. At the time he joked that it was Cupid's arrow, and when she saw it no longer hanging from its chain, it meant it was lodged in the Black Widow's heart once and for all. Baloney, Natasha knew. Clint was just really into archery and he was trying to rope her into joining him for a shooting round on the weekend.

At any rate, arrows of any kind - Cupid's especially - were the last thing on Natasha's mind when Clint rolled up in front of her dorm and honked obnoxiously until she came out. Clint whistled approvingly when she stepped into the car, prompting her to stiffly slap the backside of his head and order him to just drive already. The gallery was humming with activity when Clint and Natasha arrived, although Steve's head of straight blond hair was distinctly lacking from the crowd. Finally giving up on finding their artistic friend, Clint and Natasha decided to poke around the gallery so they could see his and other people's works. Natasha was never the type to be biased, so she felt she could honestly say that Steve's artwork was some of the best out of the entire gallery.

The first of Steve's pieces featured a myriad of the backs of soldiers marching in the rain, along with a blue light radiating from the edges and pitch black mud swallowing their boots. Several pieces that followed had a similar theme, exhibiting the darkness and traumas of warfare, yet at the same time reflecting the vulnerability and resiliency of the human soldiers always marching forward. The final piece, however, was the most fascinating; it had only the presence of a woman, a somber, middle-aged woman whose face was tilted down so that she was cast in soft grey shadows. In the lower left corner, her fingers (one of which glistened with a small diamond ring) grasped a white letter folded into three parts. The contents of the letter couldn't be seen, but they were made clear in the tear that had crept to the uttermost edge of the woman's jaw and in the title of the artwork, which read "Joseph Rogers: Killed In Action."

Clint swallowed thickly, but he said not a word to Natasha, and Natasha not a word to him. After a few moments of respectful silence, the two of them finally stepped away to make room for new spectators. By then most of the crowd had thinned out, but Steve still could not be seen anywhere. Natasha was about to suggest to Clint that they leave when he urgently nudged her and pointed to the colossal figure of Steve. He was standing next to a tinier, slenderer female figure with strawberry blond hair that was half pulled back and slightly curly. Her hand rested on the crook of his elbow, and her head leaned dangerously close to resting on his broad shoulder. Her face turned towards Steve's, and their profiles could be seen by Clint and Natasha from a distance. A smile was softly pulling on the corners of her cherry red mouth as she spoke to Steve, who had an equally-sized smile on his face.

"Go, Cap," chuckled Clint, using Steve's title as captain of the football team as a nickname. "Guess it didn't take long for him to recover from the Black Widow's Bite, eh, Nat?"

"Yeah," muttered Natasha darkly.

Meanwhile, Steve and the young woman were discussing the art exhibition - really it mostly involved her raving about Steve's work while he blushed furiously.

"Thanks for showing me around, and I'm sorry that Tony couldn't come," she said apologetically, patting Steve's arm with the hand that wasn't holding onto the inside of this elbow. "I know he really wanted to come."

"Ah yes, but the big electrical engineering project of the year was calling," responded Steve with a chuckle. "I get it, Pepper. I know he would've been here if he could have."

Pepper nodded. "I'll be sure to tell him all about your amazing work - not that he doesn't automatically know your work is amazing. He can come see for himself when he has time."

"When he has time?" laughed Steve. "I'll be an old man by then."

"Well, doesn't he already call you an old man?" smirked Pepper.

"Old _soul_ is what I am," corrected Steve.

"Same _difference_," Pepper and Steve said simultaneously, imitating their good friend with the perfect blend of scoffing and arrogance; they promptly burst into laughter.

"Wonder what they're laughing about," commented Natasha dully.

Clint smirked at Natasha, leaned closely to her, and whispered, "Let's find out."

"Wait… Clint!" cried Natasha, who clutched uselessly for Clint as he determinedly began marching toward Steve and the pretty woman beside him.

"Well I should go check on him," Pepper told Steve. "Do you think your barista friend can hook him up with a caffeine recharge?"

"I haven't seen her all night," sighed Steve.

"Keep hoping," urged Pepper, before kissing him on the cheek and waving him goodbye.

By the time Clint called "Hey, Steve!" Pepper was already well on her way out, which for some odd reason Natasha felt relieved about. The way Steve lit up when he saw them approaching was kind of adorable, which Natasha would never admit, of course. He hugged Clint with unrestrained vigor, but as he didn't quite know what to do with Natasha, they ended up doing an awkward half-hug-turned-handshake.

"I'm so glad you could make it," Steve enthused. "What did you think?"

"It was really moving, Steve," answered Clint. "That's not a compliment that comes easily from me."

"What did you think, Natasha?" Steve asked, biting his lip nervously.

"It's as great as Clint says," replied Natasha. "I especially liked the last piece… the Killed In Action one."

A wave of solemnity washed over Steve's chiseled features, and he nodded slowly.

"I've gotten a lot of comments about that one," informed Steve. "It's a depiction of when my mother found out that my father was killed in action."

"It's beautiful," said Natasha.

"Thank you." Steve smiled again, but there was a shade of pain in his eyes this time.

"We're real proud of you, man," said Clint. "Now… when are you getting to that coffee shop logo?"

Steve laughed, and a little of the pain seemed to fall away as he did so. Natasha, for once in her life, was envious of Clint's easy way of making people laugh boisterously the way Steve was. Now knowing just a small bit about what this man had gone through, Natasha figured he could use some lighthearted fun.

* * *

Unknowingly, Tony agreed with Natasha on that point, and for that reason he decided to blackmail, bribe, and coerce Steve into coming to a party with him. Tony readily acknowledged that the spindly limbs of an electrical engineer wouldn't accomplish much in terms of physically dragging Steve any place he didn't want to go. So, his persuasive techniques were the only weapons Tony had, and he used them as expertly as Bruce Lee with nunchucks. Steve and Tony both knew hat Tony's suggestion of the possibility of Natasha being at this party was what really sealed the deal; however, Tony knew better than to speak of this, and respected his friend enough to not poke fun.

Steve should have guessed he would lose Tony before they even took their first step into the frat house. It was a tall blond that had nabbed the dark-haired playboy - that was how it usually went, but sometimes it was a girl with brunette, black, or even multi-colored hair. The only hair color that Steve noticed was distinctly missing from among the array of girls that Tony tore through every weekend was strawberry blond. Like Tony with Natasha, however, Steve knew better than to bring up this fact… ever. So, while Tony was figuring out how long he could survive without oxygen with the blond girl, Steve wandered around the packs of partying college goers. His eyes were downcast and colored a depressing grayish blue, until they found a bundle of bright red hair in the midst of platinum blond and chocolate brunette hair.

He walked to her, trying his best to saunter and look low-key, but from the entertained look in her eyes he knew he was botching that pretty badly. She smiled in greeting, which caused Steve's heart to rise until it clogged his throat and he was stuck staring at her with a stupid grin on his face. Little did he know that she secretly found his dopey smile just the littlest bit cute - like a puppy begging you to pet it; Natasha almost wanted to scratch behind Steve's ears and start doing doggie talk. She ultimately decided against it.

"Did you come with Clint?" Steve finally managed to ask after a hard swallow.

"Yeah," answered Natasha. "He's trying out his luck with a blond girl named Bobbi. She's in his chemistry class."

"Okay," said Steve, not knowing how else to respond to that. "Um… are you trying your luck with anyone?"

Natasha arched her eyebrows, while Steve blushed and shifted uncomfortably.

"Does it look like I would?" inquired Natasha interestedly.

Steve decided that was a dangerous question; he didn't answer it.

"So what are you doing here?" questioned Natasha. "I know this isn't your scene."

"My roommate insisted I come out of my dark hole and socialize," replied Steve.

"He's done a wonderful job ensuring that," commented Natasha sarcastically. "He's not even here to be your right-hand man."

"Yoooo!" cried Tony who crashed into Steve from behind, swung his arm around his neck, and rubbed several noogies into his hair before Steve finally threw him off. "Where have you been?"

"Where have _I_ been?" said Steve incredulously. "Where have _you_ been? Did that girl figure out she was too good for you?"

"Possibly," responded Tony vaguely. He turned to Natasha. "So what's this, and where can I get one?"

"Tony, this is Natasha, AKA the girl who will kick your ass if you try to get fresh with her," introduced Steve.

"Oh, you wouldn't let her do that to me, would ya Steve?" Tony asked as his lips formed a pout.

"You kidding? I'd hold you in place while she did it."

Tony snorted. "Some best friend you are… Hey, so you need to come with me right now."

"What? Why?"

"I ran into a few of your football buddies, and they wouldn't believe me when I told them I managed to bring you here. I need you as proof, so come on I have a rep to protect!"

"Oh right, because you are _so_ well known for your honesty."

"Come _on_!" whined Tony.

"Okay, okay." Steve rotated to face Natasha. "I'll be right back."

"I promise I won't wait up for you!" called Natasha while Tony pulled Steve away by the collar of his shirt.

Steve's eyes stayed on her without wavering, until he disappeared along with Tony in the thicket of people; even then Natasha had a feeling he kept looking on, as if he were willing her to stay rooted to her spot with just his gaze. The guy clearly still had an interest in her, and she had to squash it before it grew to be too monstrous for either of them to handle. Natasha rapidly took inventory of the male population surrounding her, and zoomed in on a frat boy with a medium-sized build and messy dark hair that got in his eyes. She smiled grimly, adjusted the strap of her tank top, and strutted toward the unsuspecting college student with a charming smile spreading across her bright red lips.

"Hey," she drawled in a sultry voice, sliding a hand down his forearm.

"Well hello," greeted the frat boy, taking an appreciative look of her slender body. "What's your name?"

"Does it matter?"

* * *

There actually wasn't a group of disbelieving football players waiting for Tony and Steve; instead, there was a trio of giggling girls, who couldn't help but squeak with excitement when they saw Steve in his muscly glory. For their feelings' sake, Steve resisted the impulse to roll his eyes, but that didn't stop him from firing invisible knives at Tony from his cold blue irises (they must have had poor aim, because Tony looked cheekily undeterred). One by one Tony listed the names of the girls (one had to correct him), but they didn't even reach Steve's brain - it was too busy internally ranting at Tony. Steve understood that Tony was trying to help him move on from Natasha, but Steve was not interested in dating a fangirl who saw nothing besides his sky scraping height, pretty eyes, and muscular body. Really, Tony should have known better than this.

It took some minutes for Steve to untie himself from the knot of girls, shirk off Tony's grasp, and meander his way back to where he had last seen Natasha. When he had finally made it, across the way he saw something that made his heart sink: Natasha, whose arms were entangled and lips were locked with a strange guy Steve had never seen before, was standing in a very compromising and very public position. Over and over her mouth connected with that of her partner, causing a queasy feeling to crawl up from Steve's stomach and lodge in his throat. A two-syllable grunt of confusion finally dislodged the feeling, and Steve was able to make a getaway before Natasha or Tony or anyone else he knew could see him - or at least so he thought.

What Steve would never know was that Natasha, who had been watching him with half-lidded eyes the whole time, visibly sunk when he finally disappeared. Natasha scowled at herself. The whole purpose of this was to push Steve away from any romantic thoughts about her, yet his stricken expression somehow made her feel like a horrible person. Natasha never felt like a horrible person! Sure, she was aware of how ruthless she could be, especially with men, but she hadn't felt such a ridiculous thing as guilt before - at least that was what Natasha thought was the feeling strangling her gut at the moment. When Natasha propelled herself from the frat boy with a slight push, he stared at her quizzically, but got the idea when he noticed her looking anxiously in the distance.

"Oh, a weapon of jealousy, am I?" chuckled the frat boy. "I'm flattered."

"What? No, no, it's not like that - "

"Thanks for the… pleasurable event," interrupted the frat boy, who saluted her before walking away to laugh at himself.

"It's not…" Natasha trailed off when she saw that her make-out partner was already too far away to hear her amidst the party noises; she had a feeling that even if he wasn't, he wouldn't really pay attention to her explanation anyway.

"So, what did I miss?" Clint's voice asked rather suddenly from behind her.

Natasha didn't jump at Clint's unexpected appearance, but she nearly did; he really needed to stop that nasty habit of popping up out of nowhere.

She swerved around, crossed her arms, and smirked teasingly at Clint before she asked, "Aren't you supposed to be with Bobbi?"

Clint held up a slip of paper between his fingers. "Got her number."

"Did you check that there were enough digits?"

"Oh, Tasha, you wound me," groaned Clint, clapping his hand over his chest.

Natasha fell so easily into her friendly routine with Clint despite having just been inadvertently hit with the guilt stick by Steve. That came as a small relief to her.

"Let's go now," prodded Natasha. "The people here have just got boring."

"Okay," agreed Clint. "Hey, did you see Steve earlier? I caught a glimpse, but I didn't have a chance to say hi."

"You'll have a chance next Monday morning," reminded Natasha, who mentally added, _"At least I hope so."_

* * *

**Nooooo, Nat! Why you do dis?**

**P.S. I fixed the typo in Chapter 1's A/N, QuirkyRevelations. Your review is OFFICIALLY OUTDATED!**


	3. The UnDate Part 1

**From what I can see in the reviews, people are expecting major recompense from Natasha. Frankly, I think her feeling guilt for the first time in the last chapter is a pretty severe judgment for her… but I guess I'll let you be the judge of that.**

* * *

Perhaps Natasha's plan was too successful; all week she hadn't seen the upbeat Steve ringing the tiny little bell at the top of the glass door as he pushed his way into the coffee shop. She hadn't intended to hurt him - or at least, not a lot. Certainly not so much that he would avoid his favorite coffee shop for the rest of his life! Natasha only wanted Steve to get the idea that she wasn't interested, allowing him room to move on to a much more suitable, much less dangerous girl. With Steve not showing up, it looked like Natasha was going to have to add him as another casualty to her long list of relationship failures. She would have been totally depressed if she hadn't remembered that at least she had managed to not screw things up with Clint (so far). Natasha would never tell Clint this out loud (she knew she didn't need to), but she was extremely grateful for their friendship.

"Who needs Rogers anyway?" Natasha muttered to herself, as she rubbed down the counter especially hard one morning.

"What was that, Nat?" Clint asked.

Natasha was about to tell Clint "Nothing," but she was interrupted by the bell ringing and Clint exclaiming, "Hey, look who came back from the dead!" Natasha cocked her head up and saw that a bashful Steve had walked into the tiny coffee shop, still with the sloppy jogging attire that Natasha didn't think she'd ever miss. He kept his eyes on Clint as his feet led the rest of him to the counter as they had so often before, all while making a friendly yet awfully tight grin.

"Yeah, it's been a while," admitted Steve. "It took me some time to recover from that party last Friday."

"Oh man, that party was insane!" laughed Clint.

Steve nodded, and an awkward silence followed that only Clint couldn't understand. Natasha popped her gum (a little obnoxiously), but still Steve didn't look at her as he watched Clint preparing a fresh brew.

At last Clint piped up, "So, what would you like today?"

"Large black coffee, same as before," answered Steve.

A few minutes later, Clint plunked the drink in front of Steve and grinned.

"I thought you'd want the usual," said Clint, who after a pause stared strangely at Natasha. "Aren't you going to ring him up?"

Natasha blinked several times before mumbling "Oh, yeah," and numbly doing what she should have already done. Steve nodded politely as he handed over the cash to pay for his drink, and he pretended not to notice when their fingers brushed against each other. A single wave of the hand was Steve's only farewell before he grabbed his coffee and strode out of the shop as if he wanted to be any place but there.

"Well that was weird," commented Clint.

* * *

Eventually Clint got the idea that Steve wasn't much in the mood to chat anymore, so a series of quiet mornings followed that first uncomfortable encounter. Steve would come in with ears unplugged as usual, order the large black coffee as usual, and for most part keep his eyes on his fiddling fingers - which was certainly not as usual. Natasha wished she were the type to fidget, because she could find no outlet for all the nervous energy coursing through her body. Steve always smiled at Natasha, but it was stiffly, politely, joylessly, instead of the genuine beam that had previously been on his face every moment she saw him. It wasn't until this awkward chain of silent mornings that Natasha realized how much she had gotten used to Steve's friendly presence… and how much she had taken it for granted.

Natasha was not the kind of person to ignore the elephant in the room for long, and she certainly wasn't about to put up with any more of these oh-so-quiet exchanges. She was determined to snap the tension in half, and when she finally figured out how, she grinned mischievously to herself until Clint started thinking she was a crazy person. On the day that Natasha planned to carry out her scheme, Clint was behind her stacking cups and humming a Nirvana song to himself. Meanwhile, Natasha's sight flicked back and forth between the cash register's multi-colored buttons and the glass door across the room. She was about to open the register to count the money for the thousandth time when Steve, on time as always, entered the coffee shop. Steve stopped in front of the register and rubbed his eyes tiredly; he looked so bedraggled, with his blond hair messily arranged rather than perfectly gelled and the laces of his sneakers untied, that Natasha hesitated with going through with her plan. She didn't want to make a rough morning even rougher, but then Natasha reasoned that her plan actually might work out to brighten his day if all went well.

"Give me the usual," ordered Steve groggily.

"No," Natasha replied, loudly and forcefully enough to stop both Steve and Clint in their tracks.

"What?" asked a dumbfounded Steve after a perplexed pause.

"No, I will not make you the same boring drink and doom you to another boring day," asserted Natasha, gaining more confidence as she spoke. "You're going to find out what it's like to take a risk and try something new and amazing."

Steve's jaw dropped, and his blond eyebrows rose until they nearly touched the crown of his head. He quickly snapped his jaw back up and leaned over the counter with an intrigued gleam in his eyes.

"Go on," Steve drawled interestedly.

"I'll give you my personal favorite, the Red Eye," stated Natasha. **(1)**

"I thought the caffè corretto was your favorite," piped up Clint, who had finally managed to regain his sassy, sarcastic voice. **(2)**

Natasha glared momentarily at a smirking Clint, and then turned back to a pensive Steve, whose fingers were folded around his chin. For the first time in a while, Steve was looking directly at Natasha. In response, Natasha offered a small smile as a sign of renewed friendship; she internally breathed a sigh of relief when he accepted it by smiling back.

"Okay, I'll try it," he replied pleasantly.

Another customer came inside as soon as Clint had finished preparing the Red Eye, so Steve patiently waited until that person was taken care of before he took his first sip. Clint and Natasha raptly watched him swish the coffee around in his mouth, as if he were trying to ensure that every single tastebud got to try the new drink. Steve swallowed slowly and licked the dark liquid off the edges of his mouth, purposely driving the two baristas mad with impatience as he mulled over the taste. Finally, he smirked at Natasha and said "It's _okay_" in a tone that made it seem like the drink was hardly even that.

"You're too hard to please, Rogers," scoffed Natasha, ringing Steve up while Clint laughed.

Steve did a half shrug and beamed wider, letting Natasha know that she was - finally - off the hook.

* * *

Every day Natasha would prescribe and Clint would concoct a new coffee drink for Steve to try, and every time he would be amazed. Steve was glad that Natasha made that first suggestion - not just because his taste buds were experiencing sensations they never had before, but also because it meant their friendship was back in full force. Steve hadn't liked being so distant from her, but it had taken a while for the image of her making out with that stranger to stop making him feel physically ill. He couldn't help himself. It wasn't as if he necessarily _wanted_ to be that guy she was kissing, because given her past love life it probably wouldn't have meant good things for him. Still, it wasn't exactly fun to watch. Either way, neither she nor him would probably see that guy ever again, and - at least for now - Steve could relax enough to simply enjoy their companionship.

So thrilled was Steve to be friends with Natasha, that he began scratching up ideas from every corner of his brain to find a way to hang out with her _outside_ of the coffee shop. It was a very delicate matter, since Natasha had so quickly and mercilessly struck down the prospect of a romantic date. However, Steve reasoned that since she seemed to spend most of her hours with Clint even outside the coffee shop, she did believe in platonic hangouts. He would use that belief to his advantage. Steve had to be sure to make his proposal casual - or at least as casual as you can when your hands are sweaty and one knowing smirk from her sent your body reeling.

Finally, Steve just came out and said it: "We should hang out."

Natasha expressed no reaction on her wrinkle-free face as she meticulously counted Steve's change.

"Okay," she replied nonchalantly. "There's a new action movie out. You, Clint and I can see it this Friday."

"Actually, Steve and I already have plans for Friday," announced Clint.

Natasha froze. "You do?"

"Yeah," answered Clint. "I invited Steve to the archery shooting range to teach him my tricks - you know, since you vowed never to return to that place, and I like showing off to people."

"I had meant just you and I should hang out," Steve clarified.

"I don't know about that, Steve…"

"Look, if you're worried about it being a date, don't be. If anything, it'll be an _un_date_._"

"An undate?" echoed Natasha amusedly.

"Yeah," said Steve brightly. "We'll do everything you don't do on a date. We'll each do something we know the other hates, we'll eat terrible food, and instead of a kiss you can give me a smack upside the head like you always do to Clint."

"Hey!" protested Clint.

"You know it happens, dude," said Steve.

"So let's say I agree with this," began Natasha, "what would be the hated thing _I_ would have to do?"

"Going to a baseball game," answered Steve. "Clint… may have mentioned your supreme hatred of all sports - not just archery."

"Why not go to one of your famous football games?"

Steve snorted. "That wouldn't be us hanging out, it would be you watching me running around a field in a helmet for a few hours. Besides, the season ended ages ago. Didn't you go to the championship game?"

"Does it seem like I would?"

Natasha actually did attend the championship game, and she saw Clint mouth this information to Steve from the corner of her eye. She had been impressed with Steve at that game, but it wasn't because of his strength, or his agility, or his speed, or his handsomeness - reasons that the more superficial would list. What truly got to Natasha was when Steve sacrificed his own self-glory to flip the ball to someone else on the team, someone who was a little behind him but had a clear path to the goal line. That guy was the one who received credit for making the winning touch-down of that game, and people didn't stop talking about it for ages. Knowing Steve's skills, he could have bulldozed across the line himself, but he allowed a less well-known, less phenomenal player to have the ball for the sake of winning the game, not fame. Most amazingly, out of everyone in the stadium (even the coach himself), Steve was visibly the proudest of his teammate. All of Steve's teeth were exposed in a brilliant smile as he tousled his teammate's hair moments before they were both tackled by the rest of the team. Clint didn't know how much Natasha admired Steve in that moment (good thing, or else he would've blabbed), and neither would Steve if she could help it.

"What about you?" inquired Natasha. "What would you do?"

"Whatever you say I have to do."

"Okay… What's your least favorite movie genre?"

"Horror," Steve responded immediately.

"Then there we go," grinned Natasha.

"Oh man, I really don't do well with horror films," groaned Steve.

"Hey, you said whatever I say you have to do," reminded Natasha.

"You're right, Nat," replied Steve after a pause; a light of determination entered his eyes. "And I am a man of my word."

* * *

Steve arrived ten minutes late for the undate, which Natasha should have guessed - it being not a real date and all. She imagined that if it were a date (_"A dangerous thought, Romanoff,"_ her mind warned her), Steve would have shown up on the dot, if she judged rightly by referring to his early morning routine. She was standing in front of the coffee shop when Steve drove in on a Harley, which came as somewhat of a shock to her. Natasha hadn't pegged Steve down as the motorcycle kind of guy, but then again Steve had arrived from the get-go with a variety of surprises, so she honestly should have expected it, really. It was starting to get irritating how he seemed to so frequently catch her off guard.

The pair walked across the street to a deli that was infamous for their mustard-sopped sandwiches with over-salty pastrami, limited selection of pre-packaged chips that no one ever heard of, and bad service from the inexperienced workers. Natasha wanted to gag as soon as she took her first bite, and from the look on Steve's face he didn't feel much better. He popped open his soda can, and a little of the drink sprayed up and sprinkled his face; Natasha struggled with hers, so he popped it for her and got even more sticky soda on himself. The deli was strictly take-out, so they had to sit on the curb outside as they munched on their disgusting sandwiches. To distract themselves from the food, they told each other embarrassing or shameful stories from their awkward high school years. Steve talked a lot about his friend Bucky, but it was when he mentioned a girl that Natasha got really interested.

"So then we ran into Peggy, whose dad was the local policeman that hated us so much (well really Bucky), and - "

"Whoa, who's Peggy?" interrupted Natasha.

Steve frowned. "Like I said, she was the daughter of - "

"No, _who is she_?" emphasized Natasha. "In all the time I've known you, you have never mentioned a girl, not even the one I saw you at the art gallery with."

"Do you mean Pepper?" Steve was even more confused. "She's Tony's girl - no, she's a frie- you know what, it's complicated between them."

"You're getting off-topic, Rogers."

"Right, so Peggy. Peggy, Peggy, Peggy." Natasha had the impression that he was repeating her name just to buy time. "She was a longtime friend - I didn't know her quite as long as Bucky, but we used to be really close."

"What happened?"

"We grew apart."

Steve said this in a blasé manner, but the hunched shoulders and the shadow that had begun to grow upon Steve's features revealed far more than the tone of his smooth voice. His gaze was usually focused on Natasha's face, wavering neither upward or downward, as if what she said or how she reacted was devastatingly important. Right now, however, he didn't seem capable of facing her perceptive look.

"C'mon, there's gotta be more to the story than that," prodded Natasha.

Steve sighed. "Well, we knew each other in middle school and then eventually… we became high school sweethearts. She was my lab partner in freshman biology, and she won me over the day she squirted preserve juice on me when we were dissecting a pig."

"How romantic," deadpanned Natasha.

"With her, everything was," Steve replied, a faraway look coming into his eyes until he shook himself back into reality. "Hey, isn't it against the rules for me to be talking about my ex-girlfriend?"

"That's only for when you're on an actual date."

With some difficulty Steve swallowed the last mouthful of his sandwich and nodded. "Well all right then. Hey, we really should get going now."

Natasha and Steve recycled the soda cans and threw away the greasy paper wrappers that their sandwiches had come in. They kept chatting (not about Peggy, since Steve clearly didn't want to talk about her anymore), until they were back where Steve had parked his Harley.

"Nat, how did you get here?" asked Steve.

"I walked," answered Natasha, who was realizing the same thing that Steve was realizing.

"Don't you have a car?"

"No. Clint does, but he's using it to parade Bobbi around the town."

"Then we'll have to drive to the stadium on my Harley, but we'll have to go back to my apartment for an extra helmet."

"It's fine, we can just go now."

"No way, you are thirty percent less likely to die in a crash if you're wearing a helmet."

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Fine. Anyway, the more time we waste here, the less of that ball game I have to see."

Steve extended to Natasha the helmet he had brought with him, but she shook her head.

"You wear it, you're the driver," insisted Natasha.

Steve didn't respond at first; he just slid the helmet over her head and adjusted it so that she had a clear view of his don't-argue-with-me blue eyes.

"You wear it," maintained Steve, who squeezed Natasha's arms to reaffirm his insistence.

From that simple gesture, Natasha could feel a flood of blood rising to her cheeks, and was suddenly very grateful for the helmet that covered a good portion of her face. Never had a man caused this kind of involuntary reaction before, especially not with something as innocent as an arm-squeeze. Steve turned around, straddled the motorcycle, and booted it up as he waited for Natasha to join him. Natasha stood reluctant for a few moments as she stared at Steve's broad back and blond hair (which he had clearly spent too much time on to make "perfectly sloppy"). If a mere touch of his hands on her arms had such an effect on her, was it wise for her to climb onto the back of his motorcycle and hold onto his waist for dear life?

"Nat, is something wrong?" inquired Steve.

Impulsively, Natasha shooed her doubts away, mounted behind Steve, and said, "Nope, just drive!"

"Have you ever ridden on the back of a motorcycle?" asked Steve.

"Yeah, plenty of times." Natasha was lying; she had only done it once, and it was back in high school. "You've had passengers before?"

"Yeah," answered Steve honestly. "Peggy, Bucky, Pepper… out of desperation I once had to drive Tony to a convention on my bike. Out of everyone else I'd ever driven, he was the most freaked out."

Natasha grinned. "That sounds blackmail-worthy."

"Well, don't tell him I told you," Steve replied. "Hey, take my backpack from me and put it on your back. I don't want it bothering you during the ride."

Steve shrugged off his navy blue stringed backpack, and Natasha easily swung it onto her shoulders.

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"Yup," she answered.

Before she knew it, Natasha was zipping through the air faster than thoughts of "Nope nope nope I'm not ready!" and "I'll kill Steve if we die in a car crash!" were crossing her frazzled brain. The lights, the people, the buildings were all a colorful, meaningless blur to Natasha's wide eyes. After the first minute of shock wore off, however, Natasha realized that she was actually really enjoying herself. Adrenaline was infused in her every cell, though she sensed that the pleasant throb that went through her entire frame might have also had something to do with the feeling of Steve's warm body in her arms. Steve wasn't complaining about having Natasha so close either.

* * *

**(1) The Red Eye is espresso mixed with brewed coffee. It's also known as a Black Eye, a Shot in the Dark, an Eye Opener, and an I Can't Do This Anymore. I found all the names very amusing, and it sounds like the kind of killer drink Natasha would like. Also, the "red" in Red Eye reminds me of Natasha's hair color.**

**(2) The caff****è corretto is an Italian cocktail of espresso, grappa, and samba or brandy. Coffee with booze, basically.**

**I honestly know nothing about coffee since I never drink it, so all of my descriptions/commentary about coffee come from random Internet searches. You coffee aficionados can probably tell. I also know nothing about football or baseball, for the record. I'm really outside of my comfort zone here by pursuing this project. I even asked my dad to tell me about the rules of football, and when he asked me why I was asking I was like o_O. It's not like I was going to tell him it was for my FanFiction (he doesn't need to know how obsessed I am with Romanogers).**

**Steve and Natasha's "undate" is partially inspired by a Victorius episode where two characters do everything that's not date-like to avoid any romantic tension (I guess it worked, because their relationship was not canon by the end of the series). I did take the idea and try to make it my own, which I hope I succeeded in. Let's hope things turn out differently for Steve and Natasha than it did for the two Victorious characters (kudos to the reviewers who know who I'm talking about… _Psst, I'm talking to you, Quirky!_).**


	4. The UnDate Part 2

**Okay, you've waited long enough for this chapter.**

* * *

As they drove up in front of his apartment, Steve was overwhelmed with gratefulness that Tony's car was missing from the parking lot. After their conversation about the "undate," Steve didn't want to have to deal with bringing Natasha into the apartment and Tony's subsequent interrogation. When Steve had told Tony about his upcoming hangout with Natasha, Pepper was making Ramen noodles in the kitchen and also listening in. Tony stared slack-jawed at Steve for several moments, until he finally composed himself, folded his hands together, and leaned closer to Steve as if to make sure he could hear him right.

"So you're telling me that you asked her out," began Tony slowly, "not on an actual date, but on an _un_date where you two do mediocre, unromantic stuff all day?"

"Yup," confirmed Steve.

Pepper cooed, "That's so sweet!" at the same time Tony exclaimed, "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard!"

"Tony!" admonished Pepper immediately.

"No, I'm serious," objected Tony. "Why should Steve be wasting his time on a girl that's never going to go out with him?"

"Life is about more than getting some action, you know," informed Pepper dryly.

"Says you," mumbled Tony.

"Says any decent human being!"

So began another one of Tony and Pepper's squabbles, during which Steve dumped some noodles into his bowl and took out the soft drink he had bought yesterday from the fridge. He stuck his fork into the bowl and twirled the noodles around, waiting for the quarrel to die down before continuing the conversation about the undate.

"I don't know how you and Steve are friends," sighed Pepper, as she had said a million times before (about a billion times less than Steve had thought the same thing). "Your moral compass always points into your pants, while Steve takes the time to get to know a girl for who she is - even though he knows their relationship will never be romantic. He's kind, and sweet, and thoughtful, and - "

"Is this a crush I'm hearing from you?" questioned Tony with a frown. "Because I never thought he was your type."

"Oh, and what is my type?" demanded Pepper as she put a hand on her hip.

"I dunno," muttered Tony. "Dark hair, sarcastic, having one of the most brilliant minds of our generation."

Steve stopped sucking in his drink mid-slurp, and his wide eyes switched anxiously (and excitedly) between his friends.

However, the moment was broken when Pepper scoffed, "I don't know who could fill that bill, but I probably can do better than anyone you would suggest."

Disappointed, Steve broke his mouth away from his straw and stabbed his noodles with his fork; he imagined sticking that fork into either Pepper or Tony's behind until they came to their senses and professed their love for each other. Maybe that made Steve a hopeless (and slightly sadistic) romantic, but he didn't care. Those two belonged with each other, and if they didn't get together before graduation, Steve was going to scream his brains out.

"You live here with just Tony?" Natasha asked, suddenly splintering Steve's flashback.

Steve turned around and nodded, thinking that perhaps he shouldn't be so quick to judge Tony and Pepper when he was having relationship issues of his own. Shrugging off the thought, Steve turned the lock until his door clicked open, allowing him and Natasha inside. It was as messy as Natasha expected from an apartment that two college guys lived in (Pepper gave up trying to keep things tidy a long time ago). The pillows on the couch (which each had their own stained, unmatching color) were overturned or starting to spill onto the floor. The bookshelves were dusty, a stray jacket sagged from every chair, and the food groups that were on top of the kitchen counter consisted of Coca-Cola, cheese puffs and Tic Tac mints. Steve went to his bedroom to look for his spare helmet, giving Natasha a chance to observe even more of his and Tony's slipshod habitat. To the far right of the couch was a small desk strewn with wires and assorted electrical components that she couldn't identify; Natasha assumed that this desk was Tony's.

Eventually Natasha grew tired of waiting for Steve and sauntered uninvited into his bedroom, which he didn't notice since he had half his body stuck in his closet. Natasha hardly noticed this though, because she was instantly overwhelmed with the canvases on the walls, pages hanging from the ceiling, and doodled-on notebooks sprawled across the bed and desk. Each piece varied in degrees of completion or refinement - from the most basic of sketches to the elaborately detailed figures of people, objects and designs. Subjects of the artworks ranged from the mundane (a coffee mug, a pencil, or a knocked-over soda can) to people (a chocolate-haired boy with a sly grin, Steve's mother from the Killed in Action piece, or Steve himself). The furry faces of animals, the organized disorder of colors, and line drawings were also present in the array of artistic expressions. It was as if every good thing Steve had ever seen had exploded in his room, beautifully and all at once.

"Natasha!"

Steve's indignant cry of shock disrupted Natasha's train of admiring thoughts, and the way he looked at her made it seem like she had invaded an untouched part of his heart.

"Is this your art studio?" Natasha asked, breathily and amazedly.

"Double-functioning," Steve answered shortly. "Studio and bedroom. It's kind of, y'know, untouched by everyone, so if you could just - "

"Leave?" guessed Natasha. "After I've gotten this glimpse, there is no way - "

Natasha didn't have a chance to finish, because Steve suddenly barreled into her, hefted her up, and carried her back to the living room as she clutched his back like a scared cat. His shoulder was pressing deep into her abdomen, so that when he at last put her back down, her stomach contorted painfully; Natasha almost felt sick for a few seconds.

Before the pain had fully passed, Steve reprimanded in a sharp voice, "You invaded my privacy just now, and you are not doing that again. No one goes into my room without my say-so. Got it?"

"Why?" Natasha couldn't resist asking, even though Steve looked like he was about ready to pin her to the wall.

Steve clenched and unclenched his fists. "All of that… it's raw, it's emotion. It's all of my thoughts put onto a paper. The work you saw in the gallery is something that happens so much later, after I refine, rework, and retouch. In that bedroom, it's myself exposed. Surely you understand not wanting someone to know those secret parts of yourself? There are some things you just want to keep to yourself, or else people will look at you differently, or worse, you're rejected altogether."

Natasha's stomach dropped; Steve being able to perfectly express some of her deepest fears unsettled her as much as a 9.0 earthquake. After a few moments, Natasha's face softened, and her feather-light touch on Steve's shoulder caused him too look up at her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

Steve nodded, and Natasha's hand fell away.

"I'm sorry for overreacting," said Steve apologetically.

"Never mind about that," dismissed Natasha. "Do you have the helmet?"

"Oh yeah, right here."

Steve lifted the helmet, which he must have had in one hand while he supported Natasha on his shoulder with his opposite arm.

"_Geez,_" Natasha thought, "_even just one of his arms has the strength to hold me hostage… I don't know if I like that._"

Another voice inside Natasha's head scoffed, "_Oh please, like Steve would ever actually hurt you_."

"You never know," Natasha muttered under her breath as she followed Steve out the door.

* * *

Mostly everyone was already in the stadium by the time Steve's Harley rolled into the black-paved parking lot, which practically bubbled from the heat. According to Steve, they had already missed the first pitch (whatever that meant), but hopefully nothing exciting had yet happened since then. Natasha thought of all the sweaty, soda-stained baseball fans who would be hooting and booing in her ear for nine innings, and shuddered accordingly. A sports announcer's voice boomed loudly, but the language was garbled by the time it reached the farthest edge of the parking lot. Natasha doubted she could have understood it anyway, considering she knew nothing about baseball.

Natasha passed the backpack to Steve, and as his hand searched for something inside, she asked, "Who are we rooting for?"

"Now see, that's the funny thing," grinned Steve. "We're going for a team that no longer exists."

"What?"

As explanation, Steve slapped a dark blue Brooklyn Dodgers hat on his head. "Y'see, I'm a fan of the Dodgers before they moved to Los Angeles… before they betrayed my city."

"Haven't the Dodgers been in LA for ages? Before you were even born?"

"They moved in 1957, so, yes, before I was born."

"Then why go for the Brooklyn Dodgers rather than the LA Dodgers?"

"The reason I'm a fan of the_ Brooklyn_ Dodgers is because they were the underdogs. Everybody in New York was a Yankees fan, so the Dodgers were always left in the dust. That feeling of being totally on your own, fighting against the hot-shots without anyone rallying behind you, was my feeling for a long time. Because of that, I've always been a fan of the underdogs. The Brooklyn Dodgers are no exception."

"You didn't have the happiest childhood in the world, did you?"

"No," answered Steve as a distant look entered his eyes. "I wasn't always this tall or strong, and some real mean people tried to take advantage of that. The thing is though, as good as they were at crushing my body, I knew that they could do nothing to my spirit if I didn't let them."

Natasha didn't really know what to say, so for once she let silence settle over the both of them. Secretly though, her mind wrote him a message, and she hoped he received it: "I admire you, Steve Rogers. I can never say it, or show it, but I do."

* * *

Steve had gotten tickets free from a friend who had to cancel at the last minute, and Natasha conveniently was able to fill the spot next to him. The unfortunate part was that the seats would not have been worth taking if they hadn't come at no cost to them; Steve and Natasha were forced to sit so high up that the players became dots and the sun glared at them with terrible ferocity. When Steve noticed that Natasha kept shielding her eyes with her hand, he put the cap on her head despite all her annoyed, half-hearted protests. The funny thing was that she kept it conspicuously on even after the sun had dipped below the opposite stadium wall. Both Steve and Natasha pretended not to notice this.

Over two hours into the game, Natasha tugged on Steve's sleeve and began, "Hey, Rogers - "

"Hang on one minute," urged Steve, leaning forward and staring bug-eyed at the player at bat.

Looking around, Natasha realized that this Steve's was the general reaction at the moment, and imitated it accordingly. A ball that Natasha could barely make out zoomed toward the player, and a crack of the bat later, the ball was sailing merrily over the opposite fence. Steve and many others in the crowd jumped to their feet and hollered so loudly that Natasha was sure either her ears or their lungs were going to explode soon if they didn't stop. When the scream-fest finally ended, Steve crashed back down into his seat and laughed gleefully.

"I thought you were only a Brooklyn Dodgers fan," commented Natasha.

"Though the Dodgers may have rejected my city, I will still cheer for them when the moment calls for it," replied Steve. "I mean, did you see that homerun? I couldn't not cheer."

"You are a living contradiction, my friend."

"And proud of it. So what was it that you needed before?"

"Oh, nothing, my stomach is just shriveling into a raisin. No big deal."

"Tell you what, once the seventh inning stretch hits, we'll pick up a few hot dogs and head out."

"When's that going to happen?" Natasha was getting weary, and Steve could see it.

"Really soon, I promise."

As promised, Steve walked Natasha out after singing "Take Me Out to the Ball Game" (Natasha had mouthed the words, and not very well). Natasha wanted everything on her hot dog (a statement which made Steve want to marry her right then and there), and Steve had the same as they trudged out of the stadium. A little bit of pickle relish juice dribbled down to Steve's chin, and Natasha absent-mindedly swiped it away with her thumb - an action that left Steve a little lost for words until they reached his motorcycle. Natasha still had the Brooklyn Dodgers hat on, which was going be awkward if she was going to put on a motorcycle helmet, so Steve was forced to point it out. Startled, she took the hat off, stared at it as if she had forgotten all about it, and handed it to Steve so he could stuff it in his backpack. He had liked the way she looked in his hat, and she had liked the way she felt in it, but neither of them would verbally express this. With Steve's bag hugging her back comfortingly, Natasha climbed onto the Harley-Davidson behind Steve and held on for dear life until they were in front of the movie theater for the second half of their undate.

"_This is going awfully long for an _un_date_," teased a voice in Natasha's brain.

"_Shut up_," Natasha mentally retorted. "_It's taking long because we have to squeeze in two activities so that we both do something we hate_."

Natasha really must have been going insane, because she was actually having an argument with herself about a stupid da- _un_date.

* * *

"We each pay our own?" asked Steve, though it came out as more of a suggestion.

Natasha nodded numbly. She and Steve each got their own ticket to a horror film that Natasha already couldn't remember the name of. She wasn't a frequent watcher of horror movies (they bored her more than anything else), but for the sake of putting Steve on edge she was willing to watch one anyway. Like in the baseball stadium, Natasha and Steve sat side-by-side in the highest row and they both ensured that the armrest between them remained empty; there was no need to risk accidentally brushing against each other. Steve asked if Natasha wanted popcorn, but that large hot dog she had eaten had filled her up really well. Apparently it hadn't done the same for Steve, because he went and got a large order of popcorn anyway, along with a box of Sour Patch Kids.

"First they're sour, then they're sweet," chuckled Steve as he showed her the box. "Kinda like you."

Natasha shoved Steve, who only laughed again. "Don't you ever call me sweet."

"You got it, sugar," winked Steve.

Natasha was not amused.

Neither was Steve when the movie began with a dark forest and a low-pitched, and haunting tune as the backdrop. No longer was the middle armrest empty, for Steve's hand, which was whitening at the knuckles, gripped it mercilessly. Noticing Natasha smirking at him from his peripheral vision, Steve retreated his hands to his lap and kept his cool until a bloody person lunged forward in the screen. At that point Steve had his eyes half-shut and had his muscles pulled taut for every second of the movie. Eventually Natasha stopped paying attention to the movie and focused her gaze on Steve's reactions, which came in varying degrees of discomfort. During an especially violent sequence in which the ghost - or maybe a monster, Natasha wasn't focusing hard enough to know - Steve again slammed his hand down, but instead of the armrest he landed on Natasha's hand. Initially Steve was too busy cringing and grinding his teeth to realize this, but once the scene ended he looked down at his hand on Natasha's, and then at Natasha. He whipped his hand away as if he had accidentally touched a pile of slime - a mental image that Natasha did not find flattering, but she understood it all the same.

Finally the credits were rolling (although the creepy song from the beginning of the movie was playing again), and it was all Steve could do not to bolt from his seat. He and Natasha watched the credits until the final logos disappeared into blackness and they were the only ones left beside the theater employee. Steve mumbled "Have a nice day" to the employee as they brushed by her on the way down the steps. His forehead was shining with nervous sweat when they emerged into the warmly lit hallway, which was covered with movie posters advertising upcoming summer blockbusters. Steve ducked his head down and inhaled a shuddering breath - actions that made official Natasha's guilt about forcing him to see the horror movie.

"Hey," said Natasha, who lifted Steve's face by putting her finger under his his chin. "Are you all right?"

Steve pulled away from Natasha's grasp, nodded, and, after a moment, laughed softly at himself.

"I'm sorry you had to see me act like such a wimp," apologized Steve. "Hauntings and all that really freak me out."

"Don't be sorry," frowned Natasha. "I should be sorry for taking you. I don't even like horror movies either."

Steve laughed a little more easily this time. "So we had terrible seats at the baseball game, and just saw a movie that neither of us enjoyed. I would say that that is an undate well done."

"It's not over yet. You still need to drive me home."

They drove to Natasha's dorm in silence - save for the constant hum of the motorcycle's engine and other traffic sounds. Natasha, who felt the rush of icy wind as soon as she had released her grip on Steve, pulled her jacket tighter around herself and turned to face Steve.

"I would walk you to your door, but I think that's reserved for a date," informed Steve regrettably.

"Thanks for everything, I had a terrible time," she said with a smile.

Steve grinned back. "Me too."

* * *

**I'll add a little thanks to Qweb here for offering her help in giving basic baseball info. I did ask my dad for help (of course I didn't mention that I only asked about baseball because of my FanFiction), and he told me what I needed to know for Steve's spiel about the Brooklyn Dodgers. Thanks to the other reviewers who have expressed their love for this story. I really appreciate it.**


	5. The Coffee Couple

**Now we go into the aftermath of Steve and Nat's first da- I mean undate.**

* * *

Natasha was still smiling about the undate after several days (covertly, of course, since she didn't want to deal with a Clint-style interrogation). Every once in a while, a memory from that day would sneak up on Natasha, so that when she looked up to greet a customer in the morning rush, she actually looked to be the polite, friendly barista she was supposed to be. Her increased positivity lead to an increased amount of dollar bills in the tip jar - something Clint rejoiced in but was secretly suspicious about. The jar had a paper stuck onto it that had "Feeling Tipsy?" **(1)** written in swirling black cursive and a cartoon drawn by Steve to look like Clint. The cartoon was leaning dangerously sideways and was wearing a silly half-smile; he carried a coffee mug in one hand, and a scrunched dollar bill in the other. The cartoon and caption had been on the jar even before Natasha started working at the coffee shop, but she had never really looked at it until now. It was actually pretty clever.

One day, Natasha came into the coffee shop thinking about this very cartoon, until all of a sudden she skidded to a wide-eyed stop. Instead of Clint behind the counter as usual, Steve was there, whistling happily as if this was a normal day-to-day occurrence.

"Hey, Natasha," he greeted cheerily.

"What are you doing here?" barked Natasha.

Steve grinned. "I think I'm allowed inside this coffee shop."

"Yeah, but not behind the counter of said coffee shop," growled Natasha.

"Oh there you are, Nat!" exclaimed Clint, who stepped out from the stockroom and beamed innocently. "Have you met our newest employee?"

"Our newest _what_?" asked Natasha.

"I'm just here because I wanted to see your reaction, but now that I have, I'll leave you to train him."

"To _what_?"

"Train him. You two are working the morning shift now, while I relish being bumped up to the afternoon shift."

"And weekends," reminded Steve.

"Right," sighed Clint. "That's a downside to not having to do the weekday morning rush anymore."

"More hours though," commented Steve.

"That's true," shrugged Clint. "O-kay, so I'll be seeing you later. We're still on for that new action movie tonight, Steve?"

"Definitely."

"Okay, later!"

As Clint walked out, he briefly paused to kiss Natasha on the cheek, an action that was a normal and casual exchange between them. However, that day Natasha would have punched him if it weren't for her still being paralyzed with shock. It wasn't until the door slammed shut behind Clint that Natasha was startled back into reality, a place where, yes, Steve of all people had become her new co-worker!

"How did this happen?" demanded Natasha.

"Geez, Natasha, I thought you'd at least be a little more excited to see me," muttered Steve.

"I'm sorry but - " Natasha put her hands on her hips. "What am I saying sorry for? You and Clint are the ones who dropped a bomb on me in the wee hours of the morning!"

"It has been kind of a last-minute arrangement," admitted Steve. "Plus, Clint wanted to 'surprise' you."

"And you went along with it," Natasha said, slowly and accusingly.

Steve shrugged. "It was kinda fun to see the look on your face. You looked like my old dog whenever someone else used his 'special peeing spot.'"

"Okay firstly, _gross_," frowned Natasha. "Secondly, if I'm stuck with training you, I don't want any sass from you."

"Yes ma'am." Steve nodded respectfully, clasped his hands behind his back, and waited for Natasha's first order.

"The first thing you should do is put on an apron," informed Natasha.

"All right."

"Please tell me you know how to use the cash register if need be."

"Actually, I do. I worked in a frozen yogurt shop in high school. Worst job ever."

"Trust me, it will soon become the second-worst job. Are you sure you still want to do this?"

"Yep."

"Do you feel any need to tell my why you want to do this?"

Steve paused and sucked his bottom lip. "Could use the extra money."

Natasha suddenly regretted asking. "Fair enough. We'll get started."

* * *

For the first week, Steve was as clumsy and all-over-the-place as Natasha had been during her first trial run; he mixed up orders, he confused frothing milk with steaming milk, and he spilled something. Every. Single. Moment. At the end of every morning rush, Steve's hair was wild and crusted with cream, and the bags under his eyes were even heavier than when he walked in. He had to move his morning jogs to the evenings, because there was no way he could wake up early enough to run and to work without killing himself. Eventually, however, Steve got the hang of using the espresso machine, learned the difference between frothed and steamed milk, and began writing orders with the shorthand code Natasha had taught him. He kept using his cheat sheet for a while, even though Natasha was sure that he knew the coffee drill by heart. Steve was just over-anxious about making sure every order was done right - it was a part of his work ethic.

Eventually, Steve gained the confidence to drop the cheat sheet, and even relaxed enough to goof around with Natasha every once in a while. It was during a lull one morning that the both of them took it just a tad too far. Steve was doing a trick with a whipped cream dispenser, which involved tossing it in the air like it was a baton, catching it behind his back, and spinning it back in front of him with an expert flair. Natasha was struggling to choke back a smile at Steve's ridiculous antics, but then Steve started scrunching his face into weird expressions and sticking his tongue out. At that point, Natasha decided that she couldn't take it anymore.

"Get back to work, Rogers," she ordered sternly.

"What work?" said Steve. "There's no one here!"

Natasha snatched the whipped cream dispenser a second before it dropped back into Steve's hands, and he gasped at her.

"No one touches my dispenser!" Steve mock-growled, throwing his arms around Natasha and straining to grab the dispenser from her quick-moving hands.

Again and again she slipped it from his grasp, until with a loud "Arrgh!" Steve gripped tightly onto the top of the red whipped cream dispenser. In doing so, he accidentally squeezed it to the point that a shock of whipped cream splurted all over Natasha. Steve craned his neck to see her reaction, but it was stone-solid. He was about to apologize, when Natasha wrenched the dispenser from him and sprayed the foamy white topping all over Steve as if he were a sundae. They pulled back-and-forth against each other, releasing more of the whipped cream until the dispenser was empty and they had new outfits made entirely of whipped cream. They stared at each other and began to laugh uproariously, but their good humor was cut short when they heard a man clear his throat behind them. Turning around, Natasha and Steve realized that their boss, Nick Fury, had his arms crossed and was glaring at them with his one good eye - the other one had gone blind because of an accident that he didn't like to talk about. Still, even the focused gaze of just one eye was enough to cause the two baristas to shiver in their aprons.

"That is coming out of your paychecks," Nick warned them.

"Please sir, just take it out of mine," blurted out Steve. "It was my fault."

Nick raised his eyebrows and sighed. "I like you, Rogers, so please don't do anything stupid enough to get you fired. Okay?"

"Okay."

When Nick had gone, Natasha said, "You didn't have to do that."

"Yes I did," replied Steve resolutely.

"You don't have to rescue me, Rogers. I'm tough enough to handle Nick, and everything else for that matter. You don't have to prove anythi-"

"For goodness' sake, Nat, it was my fault!" interrupted Steve, an annoyed frown appearing on his face. "That wasn't _proving_ anything, it was doing the right thing."

"We clearly have different definitions of what that means."

"Probably a good thing you said no to going on a date then."

Natasha looked at Steve strangely, but he kept looking down as he wiped off all the whipped cream. To his astonishment, she suddenly swiped a finger across his cheek and licked off the whipped cream with an exaggerated slurp. She grinned cheekily at him, and he just shook his head.

The next morning, Clint jogged into the coffee shop alongside a stocky African American man wearing a charming, pearl-white grin. Natasha recognized him from many a morning rush, but she since she had never bothered to learn his real name, he was known as 12oz Americano, his typical order. Clint huffed and puffed with his reddened cheeks, put his hands on his knees, and leaned heavily on them. Natasha looked back to see Steve's face, which was contorted with confusion and happy recognition at the same time. The Americano man laughed heartily at Clint, patted him on the shoulder, and turned to Steve.

"He's like me on the first jog you took me out to," he laughed.

"Oh no, you looked _much_ worse," retorted Steve teasingly.

"See, now I'm not talking to you." The Americano man cocked his head and stared at Natasha with warm, pleasant brown eyes. "And who might you be?"

"Natasha Romanoff," answered Natasha coolly.

"Sam Wilson." He stuck out his hand and Natasha shook it. "Firm grip there. If I had to go by feeling alone, I woulda sworn you were a guy my size."

"Is that a compliment or an insult?"

"A compliment, a compliment, of course."

"I apologize for Sam," intervened Steve. "He doesn't know how to talk to women."

"Oh like you're any better," Sam snorted.

"So what are you two doing here?" Steve inquired.

"Clint is running in your honor, since you no longer can do your usual morning run."

Sam slapped Clint's back, causing Clint to groan.

"As you can tell, imitating you has been tougher than he thought it'd be," said Sam.

"Wait, if you two were running partners, then how come you never came into the shop at the same time?" questioned Natasha.

"That's the thing, Tasha," began Steve, who was struggling mightily to hold back a laugh, "Sam was such a slug that he would always fall way behind."

"Ha!" exclaimed Sam haughtily. "I'm only a slug compared to this _maniac_ over here. I'd blink, and he'd be a little dot on the horizon."

As Sam and Steve howled with laughter, Clint recovered enough to make his final steps to the counter.

"You know how I like it," he told Natasha tiredly.

"No," asserted Natasha.

Clint frowned. "What do you mean, 'No'? You've known me for years, you know how I - "

"I said 'No' because you are here as the new honorary Steve," explained Natasha. "Therefore, you have what I tell you or nothing at all."

Clint grumbled and flipped a few dollars from his pocket onto the counter. "Whatever, I'm too dead to argue. As long as it's got caffeine."

Clint and Sam sat down at one of the small circular tables next to the window, Natasha sorted the money in the cash register, and Steve laughed quietly while he made the espressos.

"It's so nice to see my pain become someone else's for once," commented Steve good-humoredly.

"I'll bet it is," Natasha replied with a wry smile.

Her smile, however, fell from her face like a dead weight when she glanced up and noticed Sam gesturing not-so-subtly toward her and excitedly mouthing "Is that her?" to Steve. Natasha's green eyes flicked back down and she slammed the drawer of the cash register shut before she announced, "Your drinks are ready." Natasha only nodded in goodbye when she saw a grousing Clint and a cheery Sam wave to them before running out the door. Natasha knew well what Sam's "secret" exchange with Steve must have meant, which led her to believe that Steve's feelings weren't as squelched as she had hoped. Going on that undate (and the several other undates that Natasha now regretted) and agreeing to train Steve as a fellow barista were mistakes that both of them were sure to pay dearly for. Steve had to have a reason to let go of her.

Natasha considered briefly the possibility of kissing Sam in front of Steve, but there were several flaws to that plan: (1) the last time she did something like that, it drove Steve away completely, and (2) if Sam was as good a friend as Natasha guessed, he'd never betray Steve like that. No, her kissing Sam would hit far too close to home for Steve to recover. There had to be something to get Steve to move on, though, or else the Widow's Curse might… might… No no, Natasha couldn't think like that. Then it hit her, so swiftly and so powerfully that Natasha was nearly winded even though she was just standing behind the counter. Natasha's brain instantly set to work, speeding through mental files and crunching numbers like the fastest computer in the world. There was a chance to preserve their friendship, and all Natasha had to do was get Steve to go along with it…

**_Snapshot:_**

"Did you see that girl?" Natasha inquired in a prodding tone while she counted out the tips.

"Half-Caff Skinny Vanilla Latte?" Steve asked absent-mindedly.

"You should find out her actual name one of these days," suggested Natasha nonchalantly.

Steve turned abruptly, inducing his sneakers to briefly squeak in protest, but even after several moments of hard staring, Natasha still didn't turn around. Finally Steve shrugged and returned his attention to the coffee grinder, which he had accidentally jammed. Nothing else was said for the rest of that morning.

**_Snapshot:_**

"Helmet," Steve commanded shortly as he handed his sleek black helmet to Natasha.

"Are we going to make the midnight showing of Divergent?" asked Natasha. "Clint's gonna be annoyed if we're late." **(2)**

"We'll make it," Steve reassured her. "Take my backpack."

Natasha shrugged on the backpack and pulled the strings until it was secure. "You know if you ask Kristen out from Statistics class she'd probably say yes."

"That's why I don't ask," Steve replied briskly as he saddled his metal steed; Natasha climbed on behind him.

"Too shy or too scared?" As if those were the only two possible explanations.

"Too busy!" Steve answered before the two of them darted onto the street full of beeping cars and blinding streetlights.

**_Snapshot:_**

Natasha's head popped up from looking down at her new copy of _Crime & Punishment_, and she excitedly eyed Steve, who had been absorbed with sketching her profile. (She didn't know he was doing this, and he was secretly frustrated that she had moved from her position.)

"Oh, wait. What about that girl who works in Student Accounts, Laura…"

"Lilian. Lip piercing, right?" Steve gestured to his lip, a dangerous move since Natasha had been trying very hard to never, ever look at his mouth.

"Yeah, she's cute."

"Yeah, I'm not ready for that."

"Hm." Steve was probably right; he wasn't ready for that.

* * *

"I've got it!" cried Natasha, slamming down the textbook Steve was holding in front of his face onto the flat surface of the table.

"Sh, Natasha!" hushed Steve, for the two of them were in the library, and the librarian was notorious for whipping anyone who disturbed the peace.

"Steve, I've figured it out," Natasha announced proudly, though thankfully in a much quieter voice than when she first spoke.

Steve quirked his eyebrows at Natasha, who was sliding into the seat across from him and grinning like a madwoman.

"What have you figured out?" questioned Steve.

"Who the perfect girl for you is," answered Natasha.

"_This should be interesting_," thought Steve, before he said aloud, "Oh yeah? Who is she?"

"Cute blonde. Pretty smile. Blue eyes like yours. Ringing a bell?"

All Steve could think of was Natasha's green eyes, twinkling with teasing. "No."

Natasha sighed in frustration. "Remember that time we went kickboxing at the gym?"

"Yeah."

"That girl was checking you out the whole time."

"Get out." Steve looked so flabbergasted that Natasha knew he wasn't being sarcastic.

"Yes," confirmed Natasha, "she was _scoping out the scene_, if you know what I mean."

"Wait, is this the girl who sometimes comes in that pack of giggling sorority girls we hate?"

"That's her exactly."

"Nat, you're not setting me up with a ditzy sorority girl."

"Stereotype!" called out Natasha.

"Sh!" hushed Steve. "Okay, I'm sorry. But you know how those girls are around me. Batting their eyelashes, not saying anything coherent, stroking my arm up and down until my brain is all fuzz. I don't like it."

"This one's not like the rest. Her name is Kate and she's really nice."

"How do you know her?"

"She's in one of my classes. Did I mention her eyes light up whenever you come to walk me back to my dorm?"

"No, you did not," chuckled Steve.

His gaze became questioning, and Natasha braced herself.

"Why are you doing all this?" inquired Steve.

Natasha already had a scripted answer for this. "Because the closest thing you've gotten to a date is our _un_dates, which are intended to be the complete opposite. You need an intervention."

Steve paused. "I'll think about it."

"But Steve, she's _really cute_ - "

"I said, I'll think about it," repeated Steve in a slightly harder tone.

"_It's a start_," Natasha thought exultantly.

* * *

**(1) My college's coffee shop has a tip jar that says "Feeling Tipsy?" - although it is distinctly lacking Steve's cartoon. Their loss.**

**(2) I know that Divergent has long been out of the theaters, but I feel like that's a movie Steve and Natasha would enjoy seeing, and at least it's relatively recent. By the time you're reading this A/N (be it the day I posted this chapter or weeks, months, even years afterward), the latest teenage sci-fi movie will be probably be out and you can picture them watching that.**

**I've been thinking that it would be really cool if someone were to make a YouTube video advertising my FanFiction. Goodness knows Chris and Scarlett have done enough movies together for the footage! I don't know how to put that sort of thing together, but I've seen FanFiction trailers on YouTube before and thought they were really cool. So, if you or anyone else you know would be willing to take on this project, I'd be really grateful. If not, well… *shrugs* It's not a big deal either way. If anyone does do it, they'll get a shout-out from me in this story and on my profile page.**


	6. Spring Break Part 1

**I did a little online research on the Black Widow's back story, and found out that she had a father-like figure named Ivan who raised her (although in another back story the Red Room took also her in early on). I'm only using the name for my version of Natasha's dad in this AU, so don't expect him to be anything like the Ivan in the comics (which I haven't read, for the record). You'll get to meet Ivan (whom I do not own, by the way) in this chapter.**

* * *

"Are you sure you don't want to come to my place for Spring Break?" Natasha asked Clint.

"Nah, it's fine, really," replied Clint. "I have a lot of work to catch up on here."

"Okay, but if you change your mind you know you're more than welcome."

"I appreciate that, Nat."

"Have you at least thought about going to your home?"

Clint snorted. "For what? My little brother's not coming home for Spring Break from his school. That means no one to buffer the always-criticizing stepfather. No thank you."

"Okay. Then I guess I'll see you in a week."

"Are you riding with Steve on his super-cool motorcycle?" teased Clint. "You do only live half an hour away from each other."

"Oh please, _I_ barely fit onto his motorcycle," dismissed Natasha. "How could I bring my stuff along too? I'm carpooling with someone else."

"Are you sure the issue isn't that you get a little too close and personal on that bike of his?"

Natasha frowned; she didn't know how to read that mischievous, star-like gleam in Clint's eyes, one of which winked at her.

"I'm not even going to dignify that with an answer," she finally huffed, brushing back her locks of red hair.

"When are you going to tell him that you're not a real redhead?"

Natasha scoffed. "I'm a real redhead."

"Yeah, but not fire-truck status like this," Clint pointed out, tugging on a curl.

Natasha yanked her hair free from Clint's two-fingered grasp and smoothed it down again; her hair was being unpleasantly frizzy that day, a fact that made her wish she had remembered to bring her scrunchie to tie it up.

"Stop primping your hair," ordered Clint. "Guys notice when you're trying too hard."

"Shut up," snarled Natasha.

Clint laughed, shaking as he did so, while Natasha rolled her eyes and gave her hair a final flip backward. She turned to leave him, but Clint curled an arm around her waist and pulled her in before she could escape. Natasha automatically returned the hug, but she dug her red fingernails into Clint's bare shoulders to make him regret catching her by surprise like that. Natasha grinned with satisfaction when she heard Clint's muffled groan of pain, which he was quick to cut short, so that when they broke apart he was smiling as easily as he always did.

"Have a good Spring Break," said Clint.

"You too," responded Natasha, waving goodbye with a quick flick of her wrist.

* * *

"My darling Natasha," a man named Ivan drawled grandly, as he opened wide his sinewy arms to embrace Natasha the moment she crossed the threshold to their home.

"Hi, Dad," mumbled Natasha, briefly pressing her face into his shoulder and inhaling the cologne that was the scent of her childhood.

A corner of Ivan's thin mouth was stretching a smile to the right side of his face when he pulled away from Natasha. He stared at Natasha for several moments, as if he were probing for secrets just by reading her eyes, eyes that Natasha was always careful to guard against perceptive gazes like Ivan's. Rising up a millimeter per second, Ivan's grey eyebrows eventually climbed as high as they could go on his wrinkled forehead. His lips pursed and his eyes narrowed at Natasha, who swallowed a little nervously, even though as far as she knew she'd done nothing to get in trouble for (recently). Ivan led Natasha to the little bar in front of the kitchen and poured a glass of apple cider, a drink that the two of them had shared in fancy glasses every cold night during the wintertime when she was growing up. Natasha always liked to pretend that she was actually drinking champagne.

Once he had handed her the cider, Ivan finally asked in a casual, inquiring voice, "So when were you going to tell me about Steve?"

The sip of cider that Natasha was in the middle of swallowing was hacked out of her throat after several coughs and sputters of shock. Concerned, Ivan maneuvered to Natasha's side of the bar and patted her back until she had recovered her voice.

"Who told you about him?" Natasha asked wonderingly.

"Clint," answered Ivan.

Natasha growled and pinched the stem of her glass until the tips of her fingers were as white as paper; she was officially adding Clint to her To-Kill list.

"What did he tell you?" spat Natasha.

"He just said you were friends," assured Ivan, calming her with a solid grasp of her shoulder. "Unless there was something else he didn't tell - "

"Dad!" interrupted Natasha, getting riled up again. "We are friends. _Only_ friends."

"Well even that is noteworthy enough to tell your old man, isn't it?" Ivan asked, disappointment dragging the corners of his mouth and his broad shoulders downward.

Natasha sighed. "I was going to when I came here…"

"From what Clint tells me, you two have known each other for a while. There's a thing called a cell phone. I've paid for you to have it since you were thirteen - you know, for emergencies."

"Since when is making a new friend an emergency?"

"It is Red Alert status, my dear. The last friend you made was Clint."

"So I don't like a lot of people, sue me."

"You're getting off topic, Natasha." Ivan sounded sterner than he had been so far in the conversation.

"And what is the topic?" asked Natasha.

"The fact that you have been spending time and developing a close friendship with a guy, and it hasn't crashed and burned to the ground."

"Geez, way to make my social life sound like total crap."

"I'm sorry honey, but it's true. Or at least it used to be. Things seem to be looking up with this guy."

Natasha frowned. "You don't even _know_ him."

"That's true," agreed Ivan as a look that Natasha didn't like came over him; it was the look he gave every time he put down his black booted foot and became the hardened veteran he was - a man whom people rarely ever questioned. "So that is why I want you to invite him to dinner here."

Natasha's eyes grew to the size of small planets. "Dad, I can't - "

"You can, or else I will."

Natasha gasped, because in Ivan's hand was her cell phone. _How on earth had she not noticed him take it out of her purse?_

"Okay, _fine_," groaned Natasha, snatching the phone away from her father.

She scrolled down to Steve's name on her contacts list and pressed the call button, thinking "_Please don't pick up please don't pick up please don't -_ "

"Hello?" said Steve.

Natasha glanced at her father, who waved his hands impatiently as if to say, "Well, go on!"

"Hey, it's Nat," announced Natasha. "I'm calling to see if you have time to come over to my house for dinner some time this week."

There was an awkward pause. "Uh..."

"My dad's really insistent on this," continued Natasha. "Clint mentioned you to him, and he's set on meeting the person I have a friendship with that hasn't - how did you phrase it, Dad? Crashed and burned?"

"To a crisp," quipped Ivan; Natasha wondered if Steve could hear that.

"Oh, well - "

"You do _not_ have to do this if you don't want to," informed Natasha hurriedly. "I know you probably just want to be with your family and see all of them - "

"Actually," Steve interrupted, "it's just me and my mom. We're planning a bunch of mother-son time this week, but I don't think she'd mind if I had dinner at your place one night."

"Oh. Okay," mumbled Natasha.

"What day and what time?" asked Steve in a chipper voice.

"Uh… does Monday at six work?"

"Mm… can we make it six-thirty?"

"Sure."

"Okay, sounds great. You can text me your address and I'll meet you there."

"Okay. Bye."

"Bye, Nat."

Steve hung up, and Natasha stared strangely at her phone. "What just happened?"

"I believe you've just made up for hiding your new friend from me all this time," Ivan said simply. "More cider?"

* * *

The drive to Natasha's house was the only time Steve had ever regretted owning a motorcycle instead of a car like most people. Steve knew of plenty of parents (Peggy's father included) who disapproved of guys with motorcycles associating with their daughters, and he feared that Natasha's father would be counted among them. Steve realized that, since he wasn't dating Natasha, he had less to fear in terms of getting grilled, but a part of him still really, really wanted her father's approval. It just felt important.

Natasha, in the meantime, was anxiously sitting beside her bedroom window and peeking between her blinds every few minutes. She had a book in her hand that she was supposed to be reading for her Russian history class, but she couldn't focus long enough to make words out of the scramble of letters before her. Was she this nervous when Clint came over to her house for the first time? No, no she wasn't, but the circumstances were much different this time around. When Clint visited, she had invited him on her own terms, and her father had known they had been hanging out for a while, and it was all a very casual affair. Clint and her dad even had a burping contest at the dinner table; with Steve, Natasha knew that there would be no such thing. To be frank, Natasha wasn't altogether sure what dinner with Steve would be like. Would he come dressed formally, with his hair well-combed and with a nice pair of sleek black slacks? Would he come on his Harley, its engine thrumming with enthusiasm? Would he joke around with her as he normally did, or would he be stiff and quiet? Most importantly, would he get along with Dad?

Natasha shook her head and re-positioned her thick, paper cover book in front of her face, but her gaze fell away easily from the lines of text. Why was she even thinking this way? It's not like Steve was her boy… boy… Ugh, she couldn't even think the word! Natasha was disgusted with herself for being on edge like this, for guessing all the different scenarios like a high school girl who was going on her first date. She was not a high school girl anymore, and even when she was, she certainly didn't act like she was acting now. Natasha sighed, dropped the book with a flop onto her lap, and leaned her head back as she pinched the bridge of her nose. She stayed in this position until she recognized the distinct roar of a motorcycle engine, and once she did she jumped out of her chair without even bothering to check outside the window. Natasha, determined to be the one to answer the door rather than her father, raced down the hall and slid to a complete stop in front of the door within moments. It was a much-practiced maneuver she had honed through the years, when she wanted to answer the door for her date and jump out the door before her dad could actually meet him. She never ended up getting serious enough about any of her boyfriends that she allowed them to come inside - well, except once, but that didn't end well. Of course.

"Dad, I don't want to hear any of your bad jokes, especially the one about six being afraid of seven!" warned Natasha. "You got it?"

"Aw, but that joke is my favorite one!" her father whined.

Natasha rolled her eyes, and made Steve to wait a few moments after he knocked before she answered the door. He didn't need to know she was waiting right in front of the door. Natasha only allowed herself a second to give him a glance-over, and she saw he was dressed in a blue button-up shirt, grey pants, and leather shoes. From the evidence of a woman's touch all over Steve's well-arranged attire and gelled hair, Natasha guessed that Steve's mother had helped him get ready. That was sweet, but it only made Natasha all the more confused about how he or she was supposed to act in this situation.

"May I come in?" Steve asked, sounding embarrassed.

Natasha must have given herself a second too long to look at him. She stepped aside and swept her arm outward to welcome him into her home, an action that Natasha hoped Steve wouldn't take for granted. Steve nodded respectfully at her, stepped across the threshold, and looked around for Natasha's father, who finally came out of the dining room to offer a broad smile and a handshake.

"It's so nice to meet you, Steve," said Ivan in a friendly tone.

"It's a pleasure to meet you too, Mr. Romanoff," replied Steve.

"Oh, uh, my name isn't Romanoff," Ivan stammered, glancing at a tensed Natasha.

Steve's eyes widened, and he looked at Natasha. "Oh, I'm sorry. I thought that - "

"We don't have the same last name," explained Ivan, "but that's a long story. You can just call me Ivan."

"Will do."

Ivan nodded. "Well come on over to the dining room. The food was delivered just before you got here, luckily."

"Ah, so you ordered in," smiled Steve. "What is it?"

"Only the best pizza in the whole world," answered Natasha.

Steve whistled. "Hm, well I grew up on New York style pizza. It's gonna be hard to beat."

Ivan grinned. "Let's see if it does. If it doesn't, there's also salad, breadsticks, and sautéed mushrooms."

"Yum," said Natasha.

"Let's dig in then," urged Steve, rubbing his hands together earnestly.

* * *

"And the verdict is…?"

Steve swallowed, looked at an expectant Ivan and Natasha, and chuckled. "Not as awesome as the one down the block from my old house in Brooklyn, but still pretty great."

"New York: 1, Us: 0," noted Ivan. "I'm glad you like it all the same."

There was a pause in the conversation, which allowed the three of them a moment to gather their thoughts in silence.

After taking another sip of his diet coke, Ivan said, "So Natasha tells me you're an artist."

"Yes I am," confirmed Steve, stabbing a few pieces of lettuce and a small tomato with his fork.

"I know you must get asked this a lot, but what are you going to do with an art major?" inquired Ivan.

Steve chewed thoughtfully for a while before he swallowed and answered, "That's the beautiful thing. Whatever I want." **(1)**

Ivan squinted at Steve. "What do you mean?"

"Sir," began Steve, forgetting that Natasha's dad had told him to call him Ivan, "there are a lot of people out there studying to be a doctor, or a scientist, or a lawyer, or some other great thing. But we forget that we need creative people, too. People who can design a billboard, write a good book, illustrate comic book pages, or take pictures for National Geographic. I feel like I'm getting a well-rounded education at my school, and combined with my specific focus in art, I can do a wide range of things. The hard part will be pinning down a specific path I want to go on."

Ivan laughed softly, surprised and impressed. "I like you, Steve. That's the best response I've ever heard to the 'What are you going to do with _that_ major?' question."

"Yeah well, I've had a lot of practice answering it."

"I'll bet." Ivan stood up and tossed his greasy paper plate into the trash can. "Who's ready for dessert?"

"What have you got?" inquired Steve.

"Gelato," answered Ivan.

A few minutes later, Steve seemed to melt into his seat as his taste buds embraced the flavor of chocolate gelato. His eyes closed and he licked both sides of his spoon in search of every bit of gelato that he hadn't already consumed.

Steve smacked his lips and commented, "I don't know why you two were fussing over the pizza. _This_ is the best thing I have ever tasted."

"One last trick I had up my sleeve for our special guest," smirked Ivan, who suddenly turned to Natasha. "You've hardly said a word this whole dinner. Is something wrong?"

"Hm? No," responded Natasha. "I was just giving you room to do as you wished to poor Steve over here."

"Aw, I'm not that bad," drawled Ivan. "Am I, Steve?"

"I am a neutral party in this conversation," replied Steve wryly.

"_Smart answer, Rogers_," thought Natasha.

Natasha did participate more in the conversation after that, though it didn't last much longer since Steve and Ivan polished off the gelato faster than she could blink. Ivan assured Steve that he was welcome to drop by any time (an invitation that only Clint had possessed for the past several years). Natasha walked Steve to the door while her dad (thankfully) made himself scarce for the first time that evening. She paused at the doorway, made a split-second decision, and kept walking with Steve to his motorcycle after she shut the door. Steve stopped in front of his Harley Davidson and turned around; because it was nighttime and the street lamps weren't exactly beacons of blazing sunlight, Natasha had trouble getting a clear view of his face. She never liked not being able to properly see him, because his thoughts always showed in his expression (apparently not even his face was capable of lying).

"Thank you for dinner," Steve thanked sincerely. "It was nice."

"'Nice' is a word polite people use when they want to describe something that's anything but nice."

Steve laughed. "I mean it. Your dad's great."

"Yeah, he is - mostly anyway."

Another chuckle from Steve. Silence ensued, and during that silence Natasha began to worry if Steve would ask about her dad, about why he didn't have the same last name as her. She didn't know that Steve had taken to heart the look on her face when he called her father "Mr. Romanoff," and that he had privately decided to never steer toward that conversation unless she wanted to. The reason why he wasn't speaking was altogether different from what Natasha thought.

"So, listen," Steve began nervously, "I want to repay you for inviting me to dinner tonight."

"Oh, it wasn't really me, it was more my dad," brushed off Natasha.

"Still, I think it would be a good form of courtesy if I invited you and your dad to dinner at our house. That is, if you'd be interested."

"Oh… I'll have to ask Dad about it, but I think that would be fine."

"Great." Even though his face was half covered with shadows, Natasha could tell that he was beaming. "Tomorrow night? Six?"

"I'll let you know if that works."

When Steve finally sped away, Natasha slowly opened the door so it wouldn't squeak as loudly as it usually did. She shut the door quietly behind her, and just when she was going to head to her room, her father's deep, gravelly voice startled her.

"I like him," he announced.

Natasha made an involuntary noise of surprise, but recovered. "Good."

"I think he would be good for you, Nat."

Natasha frowned. "What do you mean?"

"He's polite, he's smart, he's respectful, and he treats you right. I'm thinking that maybe… maybe you should give this one a chance."

Natasha scoffed. "Yeah, uh, I think I'll spare him from the Widow's Curse, Dad."

"So then are you going to dinner?" Ivan asked.

"What?"

"I heard him invite you to dinner just now."

"Okay first of all, he invited both of us, and second of all, why were you eavesdropping?"

"In answer to your second of all, I eavesdropped because the window was open and you guys were just on the end of the driveway. It was too easy to resist doing. In answer to your first of all, no, he didn't invite the both of us. He invited _you_."

"Were you not properly eavesdropping? He distinctly named you and me together."

"I know what he _said_, Natasha, but I've still got keen eyes and keen ears. He invited me out of respect, but you're really the one he wants to come. He wants you to meet his mom the same way he met me, and I think you should follow his wishes."

"Why? All this is sounding like formal boyfriend-girlfriend rituals."

"Don't think of it like that. I believe that for you two, it's a friendship initiation of sorts. You opened the door to him, and now he's opening the door to you. Besides, I gotta be out on the field tomorrow and I won't be back in time for dinner."

Natasha sighed. "Okay, I'll text him. And don't think you're off the hook for eavesdropping. You owe me."

"Oh yeah, what do I owe you?" Ivan asked in a tone that clearly asked what right Natasha had to say that.

"You owe me coming home safe to me," Natasha stated sternly, poking Ivan in the chest with a sharp nail.

Ivan's frown fell from his face, because behind Natasha's iron-hard, threatening glare and the painful pressure of her fingernail was the little girl he remembered from many years ago. The girl whose life had been shattered in front of her eyes, whose heart had been snapped in half not by one but two men, and whose nightmares would wake the both of them in the midnight hour with terrified screams. Ivan's shoulders gradually dropped, and his eyes were clouded with sorrow as he grasped the hand Natasha had been jabbing him with and squeezed it gently.

"Я буду," he whispered tenderly, which meant, "I will." **(2)**

* * *

**(1) I went to a college graduation once, and a guest speaker there was an alum of the school who graduated with a major in art. Do you know what she became? She become the owner of a very successful nail paint/polish business that's worth a lot of money now. And do you know where that started? With her mixing nail paints together to sell in a New York subway, using some of the skills she earned while in college. When people ask what one does with an art major, her answer is "Whatever I want." The creativity and the breadth of learning she had, primarily in art but in a range of subjects at a small liberal arts college, was what launched her success. I really loved what she said, being a Creative Writing/English major myself. Majors like that don't always have as clear-cut of a career path as a STEM major, but her story gave me hope. You probably saw the influence that the speaker had on Steve's spiel about careers in art.**

**(2) I used Google Translate for this, so I'm sorry if that was terrible Russian. I tried to keep it simple, so it'd be more likely that it would be translated correctly. If any of you speaks Russian, PLEASE TELL ME IF THAT SENTENCE IS RIGHT BECAUSE I HAVE NO REFERENCES!**

**Haha, I really got carried away with this chapter, didn't I? I didn't expect it to stretch this long. I was originally going to put the dinner at Natasha's house and the one at Steve's house in the same chapter, but obviously I had to split it. Enjoy the wait between now and the next time I remember to update.**


	7. Spring Break Part 2

**I'm starting to feel kind of nervous, because it's almost the end of summer and I'm still not finished with this story. I really want to have it completed and fully updated before college starts again… My worries aside, I hope you like this chapter.**

* * *

Natasha stood in front of Steve's front door for a solid five minutes. For the first minute, she read and re-read the text message from Steve and the three iron digits next to the door to make sure she had the right address. For the second minute, her eyes traveled along the door's well-worn edges and tried to make sense out of the crimson fabric of the curtain on the other side of the door's window; the fabric had one of those designs where it looked like it had two patterns at once, and her brain couldn't figure out which one to focus on. For the third minute, she shifted from foot to foot, raked her hand through her freshly straightened hair (the curls were fussing too much that day), and adjusted her jacket. For the fourth minute, she began seriously considering just walking away and never talking to Steve again. What her dad had told her yesterday was bothering her more and more, itching like a giant worm crawling all over body that she could never move quick enough to catch.

It was the conclusion of the fifth minute that prompted her to finally knock on the door, when it occurred to her that _it was just Steve_ and she didn't need to over-think this. They were friends, just like her and Clint. Steve might as well be her brother. What did she have to worry about anyway? It wasn't like either of them were in danger of doing the dreaded l-word, the word that Natasha reserved for a time when she thought Santa Claus was real and the world wasn't an awful, soul-sucking place. Natasha had been working hard to make sure of it, and it was only a matter of time before Steve called Kate and everything would move smoothly from there. This thought was what anchored Natasha when Steve opened the door and smiled one of his wide, unabashedly delighted smiles upon seeing her.

"You're five minutes late," he informed her as the skin at the edges of his eyes crinkled and the corners of his lips tilted upward.

Natasha looked at him. _He couldn't possibly know_.

"I knew that would annoy you," she retorted cheekily. "Pre-dic-ta-ble."

Steve rolled his eyes. "Whatever. C'mon, meet my mom."

Suddenly flooded with the same uncertain feelings she had on the other side of the door, Natasha stiffly followed Steve to the kitchen. It was a small kitchen, with a refrigerator, a toaster oven, a sink, and a stove taking up most of the space, and Steve basically taking up the rest. His broad back finally moved aside, permitting a full view of the small, roundish figure of a blond woman with rosy cheeks and a dirty apron. Though her teeth were a little crooked, her smile was still kind and friendly, which relaxed Natasha enough to smile back and reach out for a handshake. The woman's hand felt small and warm in Natasha's, oddly making Natasha wonder if her mother's hands had been anything like that.

"It's so nice to finally meet you," the woman gushed. "Steve's told me _sooo_ much about you!"

"Mom!" cried Steve; Natasha could practically _hear_ him blush behind her.

"What?" she said innocently. "You have. All good things, I promise you, Natasha."

"I'm sure," replied Natasha.

"So you can call me Sarah," the woman informed her cheerfully, "everyone else does - well, except Steve, of course."

"Okay. What's on the menu tonight? I smell something baking."

"Oh, that's my chocolate guinness cake."

Natasha frowned. "I don't understand, are we having dessert for dinner? I don't see anything else out to eat."

"That's the fun part," piped up Steve.

When Natasha turned around, she realized Steve had an expression of both mirth and excitement.

"What is?" questioned Natasha.

"We're making the dinner, right now," announced Steve grandly, sweeping his arms out as if he were going to hug the kitchen.

"Whoa, Rogers, you never mentioned anything about cooking. There's a reason Dad and I ordered pizza yesterday night."

"It'll be fun, I promise."

Natasha looked at Sarah, silently begging for help with her enlarged green eyes.

"Trust him, honey, he knows what he's doing," Sarah reassured.

Natasha didn't know if what did it was Sarah's use of the word "honey" or the pleading look in Steve's blue eyes (she had a strong suspicion it was both), but somehow she broke down.

"Fine, but I don't see how all three of us are going to fit into this tiny kitchen - no offense."

Sarah shook her head. "None taken. It's a cozy little kitchen, but it does get a little _too_ cozy sometimes. I'm going to sit this one out."

"You are?"

"Ma is finally letting me make her specialty by myself - well, almost by myself," Steve said, pride evident in his voice.

"What's the specialty?"

"Shepherd's pie. We're also making potato and leek soup. It's gonna be fun."

"Whoo."

You can imagine the waves of energy pulsating off of Natasha at that moment.

* * *

"Are you sautéing?" Steve inquired as he diced the onions on the counter opposite the stove.

"How should I know?" Natasha asked.

Steve leaned over, and his warm breath tickled Natasha's skin (not unpleasantly) while he observed the two pans, one of which Natasha was stirring.

"Yeah, you are," Steve nodded, satisfied.

"Can I just take a peek in there?" called Sarah from behind the door to the dining room.

"Ma, you promised!" Steve hollered back.

Natasha smirked when she heard Sarah's frustrated sigh.

A spill of onions on the pan next to Natasha's alerted her to Steve's presence beside her, as he mixed the vegetables and whistled an indistinct tune. His eyes flitted to her - or more specifically the hand that was stirring the food in her own pan - and he shook his head.

"What?" Natasha demanded.

"Stirring is an art, you can't just move the spoon stiffly like that," explained Steve. "Watch me."

Natasha watched carefully the rotation of his wrist, the bubbling oil around the carrots and oranges, and the steady, circular motion of the spoon. She didn't think that she was doing anything any differently.

"I don't see anything," she told him.

Steve sighed melodramatically, set aside the wooden spoon he had been stirring with, and gently clasped Natasha's wrist. Before she quite knew what was happening, his body drew close to hers and her arm began to move in sync with his to shift the vegetables where Steve wanted. Steve was murmuring directions in her ear, but Natasha couldn't get a firm enough grip on anything past the sound and feel of his voice to understand them. Finally Steve backed away and Natasha could think clearly again; if she had known he was going to pull a move like that, she would have protested a lot harder against cooking with him.

* * *

"So tell me about yourself, Natasha," Sarah requested amiably, after they were all seated around the dining table and after they had said grace (Natasha had never been taught to pray, but she closed her eyes out of respect).

Natasha swallowed. "I would, but I think Steve's life must be far more interesting. I know you must be so proud of him and how far he's come."

Sarah beamed; Steve simply raised his eyebrows, aware that Natasha was purposely diverting the conversation away from herself.

"I am very proud of him," affirmed Sarah. "You wouldn't believe it looking at him now, but he was the tiniest baby I ever saw. Grew up as a sickly little thing. It was a rough time for us after his father died, but my little boy always pulled through."

"Not so little anymore now," Natasha pointed out.

"No, not anymore."

Sarah almost looked wistful, but before Natasha could ask any more questions Steve said, "So Ma, you haven't said what you think of the food. How did I - _we_ - "

"Mostly you," chimed in Natasha.

" - do?" finished Steve.

Sarah sighed and put her fork down, but she didn't respond for a few uncomfortable moments. Natasha could see the light dim in Steve's eyes and wanted to say something to cheer him up again, but only his mother had the power to do that now. To their surprise, however, Sarah suddenly broke out into a wide grin (though it was bit touched with nostalgia).

"Steve, you might have done an even better job than I ever could," Sarah announced proudly.

Steve's lips parted, but no sound came out; Natasha clapped.

"Really?" he asked when Natasha's applause died down.

"Well you did have the help of a woman's touch," Sarah reminded, sneaking a glance at Natasha, "but to me it seems that you can do a wonderful job in the kitchen."

"Thanks, that means so much coming from you," smiled Steve.

"Okay, now quiet down so I can hear Natasha tell me about herself."

Natasha's breath stuck in her throat; Sarah was more determined than she thought to find out all about her.

"Well," Natasha began carefully, "I'm majoring in Politics and International Relations, and minoring in Russian. I work in the coffee shop with your son during the school week and I binge watch Gossip Girl on the weekends."

"Do you really?" asked a surprised Steve.

"Don't you dare judge me," warned Natasha.

"No judging, I watch Cake Boss on Netflix."

"Oh Steve," said Sarah, who suddenly found it hard to continue, due to the laughter suddenly rising up within her. "Do - do you remember that time I was working in the garden, while you tried to make a cake for my birthday and it exploded?"

"Uggghhhh not that story," Steve groaned, as his head fell onto his folded arms.

"Do tell," urged Natasha gleefully.

Disasters like the cake explosion were described at length to Natasha for all of dinnertime, and Natasha wondered if Steve's face would ever recover for burning so red for so long. He managed to laugh most of it off though. Natasha was glad that Sarah didn't ask any more questions about her life, because she didn't have much past Gossip Girl that she was willing to share… with anyone.

Sarah sighed contentedly. "This has been really nice. It's been so long since Steve has had a girl over for dinner; the last time was with Peggy before we - "

"Can we please not talk about that, Ma?" Steve asked, a frown developing on his face. "Natasha is already well aware of the astonishingly low amounts of women I've dated in the past couple of years."

"Oh Steve, you know I didn't mean any harm," Sarah said apologetically, reaching out her hand to touch Steve's arm; Steve moved away.

"I know you didn't," mumbled Steve.

He immediately stood up, collected everyone's plates, and kissed the top of his mother's head to assure her that he wasn't angry before he went through the door to the kitchen.

"He's such a good boy," sighed Sarah, looking at the door that Steve had passed through.

Sarah didn't see it, but Natasha nodded subtly, so subtly it was almost as if she hadn't done it at all. A few minutes passed with small talk between Sarah and Natasha, and when Steve still didn't come back out, Natasha went into the kitchen to check on him. She discovered him with his forearms plunged into soapy water and into a muddle of dirty dishes with food stains of all kinds of colors, all of which she recognized from the meal they just had. Silently Natasha joined him at the sink (really more off to the side, since his broad frame basically took up the entire length of the sink) and began drying the dishes that he set carefully on the dish rack. Her eyes spied the open cupboard on to her left and noticed that all the dishes there were multicolored and plastic, but the ones they had used for dinner were made of china. They had brought out their best dishes for her?

Natasha couldn't handle being treated the way the Rogers family was treating her; aside from her dad, no one had made Natasha feel as special as they did at that moment. If Natasha didn't do something right now, the emotions she had tried so hard over the years to smother would push her past a brink that she could never climb back up to. Noticing the thick layer of foam that had built up in the sink, she grinned mischievously as she thought of the perfect way to avoid her too-emotional thoughts, and also to make her one of the most immature people alive. She reached out, scooped a handful of white froth, and before Steve realized what was happening, blew it all in his face. A little bit of the suds had gotten in his mouth, so he sputtered and spat while Natasha cackled like a madwoman. Steve was not one to be outdone, though. He flung two handfuls of soapy bubbles, beginning an all-out foam war between the redhead and the blond that lasted over five minutes. When all of the suds had been scattered all over the room and all over their bodies, they sunk to the ground laughing (Steve slipped, which only made them laugh harder).

"What on earth just happened?" Steve asked after he had enough breath to speak again.

"Something much worse than the whipped cream incident," answered Natasha.

Steve looked around and shook his head. "I came in here to clean things up, not make it even messier!"

"You have a mop, right? We can fix it up really quick."

"My mom must be wondering what happened to us."

"I was, and now I see very clearly what happened," said Sarah.

Steve and Natasha looked up guiltily at Sarah, who was shaking her head like they were naughtiest toddlers, but also smiling like they were the two toddlers she loved most in the world. They stood up and began grabbing small hand towels and napkins to wipe off the soapy water, but Sarah held her hands up.

"I'll take care of this," informed Sarah. "Why don't you to go out onto the porch?"

"No, I don't want to leave you with a mess," protested Steve.

Sarah wrung a towel and whacked Steve with it to shoo him and Natasha away.

"Just go!" she commanded.

* * *

Natasha hadn't really noticed it when she first came to the front of the house, but the Rogers had a really nice front porch. It was a white porch with four rectangular columns, four long steps, and a railing on either side of the steps; dark green vines curled around the railings and blossomed with tiny flowers, while the columns and steps had slightly chipped paint that Natasha had an almost irrepressible urge to scrape with her fingernail. A couple of potted plants, which were bursting with sweet-smelling red flowers that matched Natasha's nail polish, hung from the ceiling of the porch. Steve and Natasha squeezed into the white wicker swinging bench that also was suspended from the ceiling, pulling out the blue and white side cushions to create more room. For a few sweet, delightful moments they slowly swung back and forth as their feet pushed the ground, and they watched star after star take its honored place among the heavens. Then, Natasha ruined the moment.

"Do you ever talk about Peggy?" Natasha asked quietly.

Steve stiffened, but after a second, he sighed resignedly and relaxed his muscles.

"Not really," admitted Steve. "Besides my mom and Bucky, nobody really knows the full story. I don't like to relive it."

"I'm sorry I brought it up," Natasha replied honestly.

Steve shook his head. "No, you asked about her, so I'll tell you about her. It'll be good to get this off my chest."

Natasha nodded. "Okay. Go on, but only if you want to."

Steve sighed again, and didn't say anything for so long that Natasha started to think that maybe he changed his mind. At last Steve did begin, speaking in rhythm with the creak of the swing and in harmony with the night concert of crickets playing their music on the lawn.

"Peggy and I were in love," Steve began, "that much was obvious - to everyone except us, at least. Since we were kids we tiptoed around our feelings, thinking that the other didn't feel the same way. I really started to fall hard in freshman year, though, and in sophomore year it finally happened. I was going to start my first football game - I had gotten into the varsity team as a tenth grader, can you believe it? Anyway, Peggy was really worried for me because she remembered me from when I was a scrawny little kid, even though I was much bigger by then. She caught me right when I was gonna run onto the field, and right in front of God and everybody, she planted one on me."

"How did you play in the game?"

"Oh, I sucked in the first quarter, I was so busy smiling stupidly after she kissed me. But eventually I picked things up and really hustled, and we won the game."

"How were things with Peggy after that?"

"Amazing. I mean, I'm sure you don't want to hear all the gushy details, but we stuck together, Peggy and me… Until the day my mom got a job out of state - waaaay out of state. It paid so much better than her current job, so it wasn't like she could say no, not with the way we were living then. So, we moved."

"When was that?"

"We found out about the job during the summer before senior year. Peggy and I spent every second we could together - outside of my time with Bucky, of course. But you know how that goes. Anyway, we agreed to stay friends after I moved, and for a while we kept in really good touch. As the weeks passed, however, I stopped getting calls, letters, emails, even texts. Finally I realized that I wouldn't get any more from her ever again, aside from the occasional postcard or something. This past summer, Bucky told me that she started going out with one of the guys that had been on my team."

"Oh, Steve, I'm sorry." Natasha felt genuinely sympathetic.

Steve shook his head. "Don't be. It's not like we were an item anymore. She had a right to move on."

"Yeah, but with your own teammate?"

Steve shrugged. "He wasn't my teammate by then, and besides, I hadn't talked to either of them in ages."

"Still, I'm sorry that happened to you."

Steve nodded appreciatively, and when nothing else was said for the next minute, Natasha knew that was the conclusion of that conversation. Now she had the answers she wanted, but somehow it only made her want to know more - not about Peggy, but Steve. Just Steve. Who was he besides Peggy's ex-boyfriend? Besides Sarah's little boy? Besides her co-worker and close buddy? Natasha had a feeling that a deeper look into what Steve called his "raw" art could probably begin telling her.

"I'm going to do it," Steve announced suddenly, which abruptly jerked Natasha out of her train of thought.

"Do what?" she inquired curiously.

"Ask Kate out."

Natasha tried desperately to resist the immediate, unexplainable deflation inside her chest.

"O-oh," she stammered, before clearing her throat and asking in a steadier voice, "Why did you decide to do it?"

"I could use a fresh face around my life. Might even help me move on from…" Steve's breath caught; Natasha raised an eyebrow. "Peggy."

"_Cue sigh of relief,_" thought Natasha.

"_And a little disappointment_," another mental voice added, purely just to spite Natasha. She began wondering if she had misinterpreted Sam's signals to Steve, if in fact he was just excited about meeting the (in)famous Black Widow rather than hinting that Steve had admitted to having a huge crush on her. Perhaps Steve really had moved on - which, even though it was what Natasha thought she wanted, brought down her spirits by several degrees. Because Steve was silent after his brief announcement, Natasha's depressed thoughts dragged her lower and lower, until her head fell on Steve's shoulder and she was sleeping soundly.

Suddenly feeling extra weight on his left shoulder, Steve craned his neck around to see Natasha peacefully sleeping beside him. He adjusted his shoulder just a little bit to see if it would wake her up, but she only settled into the crook of his neck. Steve sighed; he had literally bored his guest to sleep, and he hadn't the heart to wake her up. She really had looked exhausted after cooking for half the evening, and surviving a drawn-out conversation with his mother and a fierce soap war for the other half. Steve considered loading Natasha into his mother's car and driving her home; however, her car was a run-down old thing that was almost as old as him, and was not completely reliable on a highway late at night. He would have to ask his mother what to do.

Steve carefully slid away from Natasha, while gently leaning her towards the other side of the bench and pushing a pillow next to her head. He opened the screen door and discovered his mother, always the neat freak, wiping away small bits of sauce and crumbs from the dinner table. She smiled warmly at Steve and dropped the rag in her hand, diverting her whole attention to him; she could tell that something was on his mind, and she, with a mother's intuition, already had a not far-fetched guess formulating in her brain.

Recognizing that she was looking at him expectantly, Steve shifted and stammered awkwardly, "Um… Natasha fell asleep."

Sarah blinked, surprised that that was what Steve had to say. "Did she? Wait, where is she?"

"I left her outside."

"Steven Grant Rogers!" exclaimed Sarah, horrified and reproachful. "You left her in the bitter cold?"

"First of all, it's spring. Second of all, I can't carry her in while holding the screen door open."

"Oh. All right, I'll hold it open. But what are you going to do?"

"Well she's not in a state to drive, and can't very well be driven in anything we have here. I'll call her dad to come pick her up."

"Okay."

* * *

**I'm going to buckle down. I am going to at least finish writing this FanFiction before the school year starts. I WILL DO IT (hopefully).**


	8. Steve Meets Kate

**You guys are going to love and hate this chapter. Heh heh.**

* * *

When Natasha first came to, her first fuzzy thought was that the bed she was lying on didn't feel like her bed, and the blankets she had been sleeping in didn't feel like her blankets. Natasha rubbed her eyes with the tips of her fingers and pinched the bridge of her nose before finally opening her eyes; then she gasped, because she wasn't in her room at all. This room had light blue walls (one of them had a water stain), dusty blinds covering a squat window, a small, worn-down wooden desk, and a giant bulletin board. Pages from comic books, how-to-draw books, art magazines, and Manga comics were stuck onto the bulletin board, while several paintings of increasingly high skills adorned the walls. On the nightstand next to the bed was an alarm clock that was set on military time, a tiny lamp with a canvas shade, and a framed photograph. Natasha squinted, and gasped again when she saw it was a picture of Steve with his mom on his high school graduation day. Now she knew; she was in Steve's room!

Remembering how angry Steve had been when she had gone into his room at his college apartment (how did she even get into his bedroom this time?), Natasha scrambled out of the bed. She was wearing the clothes she had on last night - dark blue skinny jeans, a thin, dark grey T-shirt, and - wait, where was her jacket? It was her favorite jacket, light grey with black horizontal stripes, and the last time she remembered seeing it was when she took it outside to the porch. It had been a little chilly that night, but the jacket suited well in keeping her comfortable the whole time she talked with Steve. After coming onto the porch, everything was a blur to her - something about Peggy, something about Kate, something about pretending to happy about something she wasn't really happy about…

Natasha was still trying to figure out her thoughts when she stumbled into the dining room, where Steve and Sarah sat with mugs of coffee in their hands. They smiled brightly at her (Natasha supposed that being a morning person ran in the family) and offered her coffee, eggs and toast. She mumbled yes to all three offers as she sat down and Steve stood up to go into the kitchen to make her breakfast. Natasha blinked sleepily at Sarah, who popped a mouthful of cheesy omelet in her mouth and sighed contentedly as she slowly pulled the fork from her mouth. Since Sarah was busy with her breakfast, Natasha simply listened to the stirring of the fire, the cracking of eggs, and clatter of utensils from behind the kitchen door.

After a little time had passed, an omelet with bell peppers, cheese, and mushrooms was presented on a ceramic plate. Noticing numbly that they were using the nice dishes again for her, Natasha stuck her fork into the eggs and sampled a piece of it. Amazing, of course. Steve sat down at the head of the small table, between Sarah and Natasha, and wolfed down the last of his omelet. Finally Natasha had regained enough mental energy to think coherently and to ask the Rogers a question.

"Not to say I don't enjoy your lovely home… but what am I still doing here?" Natasha inquired.

"You fell asleep when we were on the porch," Steve answered.

"I didn't fall asleep while you were telling me something, was I?" Natasha would've felt bad about that.

"No, no you didn't. I tried calling your dad to pick you up, but I couldn't reach him until this morning. He should be here pretty soon, actually."

Steve's mind replayed the scene from the previous night, when he was carrying Natasha bridal style down the hallway to his room. Yes, he hadn't liked the thought of her being in his room at his college apartment, and yes, he was unsure of bringing her into his room here. He didn't think it was proper to dump her on the tiny living room couch, even though it would meant he would have to sleep on it himself. Somehow though, by the time he reached the threshold of his bedroom, Steve was at peace with himself about carefully laying her on his own bed. He looked around the plain light blue walls, knowing that none of his raw art was here, yet feeling that perhaps he wouldn't mind so much if Natasha saw it now. Only a select few had entered the inner shrine that was Steve the artist's drafting stages, and Natasha meeting his mom was an important step towards there. Steve looked back down at the sleeping Natasha, and couldn't resist sneaking a kiss on the part of her forehead that met with the roots of her red hair. He grabbed a spare blanket from his closet and threw it on her before hastily leaving the room, fearing that somehow she had sensed what he'd done and would consequently kill him for it.

The honking of a car horn and the buzz of Natasha's phone in her pocket reawakened Steve to the present reality. Natasha stood up and thanked Sarah for letting her stay for dinner and the unplanned sleepover; of course Sarah replied that it was her and Steve's pleasure, and that Natasha was welcome to come back any time she wanted. Steve walked her to the front door and waved to her until the sleek black car drove too far away for her to see him any more. Natasha leaned back in her car seat, rubbed her eyes, and purposely said nothing to her father, whom she knew was watching her inquisitively.

"You know when they called last night," began Ivan, "they left a voice mail where his mom shouted in the background, 'I promise my son won't take advantage of your daughter! He's the most honorable man there is!'"

Ivan had raised the pitch of his voice as he was imitating Sarah, which made Natasha laugh despite herself.

"Did she really?" questioned Natasha.

"Yes. He sounded really embarrassed after that. Do you want to hear the message?"

"Dad! You didn't keep it, did you?"

"Of course I did, it's hilarious."

"Dad, if you love me and if you like Steve as much as you say you do, you'll delete that voice mail."

"Why does it bother you so much?" Ivan raised his eyebrows.

Natasha sighed and turned away from her father. "Just delete it, okay?"

"Okay," muttered Ivan resignedly.

* * *

Steve and Natasha didn't talk to each other for the rest of spring break, which made sense since they were going to see each other soon at school anyway. When they returned, they found the coffee shop as they left it and easily resumed their easygoing banter on their first day back. Sam came running in every morning - sometimes with Clint, sometimes not - and Kate sometimes accompanied her girlfriends. Natasha would always glance from Kate to Steve and Steve to Kate, but Steve's face may as well have been made of stone it was so expressionless. It might have been because Steve was in work-mode, and when that happened during the morning rush there really was no talking to him unless it was to make an order. Still, it frustrated Natasha to no end.

For a week or so following spring break, Natasha made an effort to talk to Kate in and after class (which was a great feat considering Natasha hardly talked to anyone outside her inner circle). Natasha wanted to do all the prep work for Steve, gauging Kate's interest and finding out what her favorite activities were. This way, when he asked her out as he said he would, Natasha could give him all the pointers he needed and things would move smoothly from there. Never mind that Natasha's gut clenched whenever she seriously thought of Steve hanging out with another girl. She and Kate started with small talk about the assignments, what they did over the weekend, and how the semester was going. It didn't take long for Kate to open up more to Natasha, so they were able to progress to discussing hobbies and interests outside of school. Natasha even managed to arrange a discreet lunch with Kate on a day Natasha had nothing scheduled with either Clint or Steve - that way neither of them became suspicious. Finally, the two women reach the exact place Natasha wanted the beautiful, unsuspecting Kate to be.

Natasha knew she had made her goal when Kate bit her lip and asked, "So, who's that guy who's always waiting for you after class?" Before Natasha could finish internally fist-pumping, Kate added, "Is he your boyfriend?"

"Noooo," said Natasha, shaking her head to emphasize her answer. "Why do you ask?"

Kate shrugged to seem casual, but Natasha could see that her hands were trembling slightly. "Oh, I was just being curious is all."

"Well, luckily for every girl in the universe, he is completely single."

"That is lucky."

Nothing more was said, and Natasha more than once hid a sly smile as she ducked her head. The trap had been set.

* * *

At the end of the following class session, Steve was leaning against the doorway as he always did after most of the students had cleared the place. Kate was going over her rough draft of an important research paper with the professor, which bought a few minutes of time for Natasha to talk to Steve. Natasha ambled over to Steve with textbooks in her arms and a friendly greeting floating from her crimson lips (she had on a whim decided to vamp it up with the lipstick instead of gloss, and unbeknownst to her it was secretly driving Steve mad).

"So, are you going to do it?" Natasha inquired, subtly gesturing to Kate with a tilt of her head.

"Yes I am," answered Steve.

"Well here's your chance," whispered Natasha.

A moment later Kate had walked out of the classroom and began striding down the corridor, but Steve's friendly voice halted her in her tracks.

"Kate, right?"

Kate blinked, turned around, and blinked several more times; yes, it was definitely Steve Rogers, captain of the winning football team and the target of her massive, pathetic crush, who was talking to her. Kate nodded numbly.

"Steve Rogers," he said, extending his hand until Kate regained enough senses to shake it.

"So you're Natasha's not-boyfriend."

Kate regretted the comment as soon as she said it - why would she even _say_ that? Steve's countenance contorted with confusion, while Natasha remained very still and Kate worried about the blush that was undoubtedly rising to her cheeks.

"Uh, I guess…" Steve trailed off and shook his head. "Anyway, whatever she told you about me is all lies, I assure you."

Kate laughed, which aided her immensely in easing her muscle tension (neither Kate nor Steve knew this, but Steve's joke had done the same for Natasha).

"It might surprise you that she actually thinks pretty highly of you," informed Kate sweetly.

"I don't believe a word of that, but good effort to cover Natasha's butt," Steve said in an easygoing manner.

Natasha was about to say, "I'm right here!" but she caught herself when she noticed that Steve and Kate were sharing a moment. They were looking at each other, not as strangers, not as friends, but as two people who, though hesitant, were very intrigued about the other. Natasha took this as her cue to step back.

"Would you…" Steve scratched his head, and Natasha stamped her foot with impatience. "Would you like to have a cup of coffee some time?"

Natasha mentally face-palmed. Was that really the best Steve could come up with? As Natasha feared, she could see the crash-and-burn effect on Kate's face, as her face reddened and she muttered awkwardly and indiscernibly.

"I-I'm sorry Steve, I can't," Kate told him, before walking briskly in the direction opposite to where she had been going before; she was too embarrassed to turn back when she realized this.

Natasha only possessed enough mercy to wait until Kate was gone to bring down the hammer - AKA the smack of her hand - on Steve.

"Ouch!" he cried. "What was that for?"

"One date, you only had to ask her out on one date," groaned Natasha. "And you totally messed it up!"

"Whoa, how did I mess up? I asked her if she wanted to go out for coffee, and she said no."

"You didn't sell it. She didn't really believe you wanted to ask her out - I mean you were _stammering_ the whole time. Plus, there was the fact that she thought you were my boyfriend."

"Oh yeah, what was that 'not-boyfriend' comment about?"

"The fact that you always wait for me after class. It made her wonder if you were my boyfriend, and she asked me about it when I was talking to her yesterday. You've got to stop walking me to my dorm. Who knows how many dates _I've_ missed out on because guys think you're my boyfriend!"

"Please," dismissed Steve, rolling his eyes. "Like anything would stop a straight college guy from asking you out."

"You don't know it, but you're pretty intimidating, Steve. Over six feet in height, add muscles on top of muscles, and you've got a very effective boy repellant."

Steve scoffed. "Whatever."

"So, I guess I'll have to keep scoping out girls for you. It's odd, because I was so sure she was into you."

Steve shook his head. "No, don't do any scoping. I'm not giving up just yet."

"You aren't? How will you get her to say yes to a date?"

"I'll think of something."

Steve was determined not to let this one setback discourage him from pursuing Kate; he had had enough rejection from Natasha, and Steve was ready for someone to say "Yes" for once. He had a feeling Kate could be that someone, but how he would convince her was something for him to ponder on for a while. He didn't accompany Natasha to her dorm after her next class.

* * *

This research paper was the most demanding, most aggravating, and most time-consuming assignment so far in Kate's college career. Ten pages was the assignment, and Kate was still grinding through page five at the pace of a slug - no, not just any slug, but an old crotchety slug whose every body part groaned whenever it moved. Thankfully the paper wasn't due until next Monday, but the old-crotchety-slug pace wasn't going to cut it if she wanted to turn it in on time. Kate began to wonder if it wasn't so much the difficulty of the assignment as the blond-haired, blue-eyed barista that was stunting her writing. Out of nowhere he had asked her out - although it was suspiciously a day after she had implied her interest to Natasha, so maybe it wasn't out of nowhere. Natasha seemed to be the type to try to be a match-maker for all her friends, which would have been great for Kate if it wasn't for… other complications.

Kate was sighing in despair over her love life, when there came a knock at her door; Kate frowned, not recognizing the sound as the usual knock from her roommate when she forgot her key. There wasn't a peep hole in the door, so Kate simply had to open it to find out who was on the other side. When she did open the door, she instantly wished that there had been a peep hole, because there was Steve in all his hot glory. One hand held half-a-dozen red roses with light blue wrapping and the other hand held a couple of wrinkled coupons. On Steve's face curved a wonderfully adorable smile that melted Kate's insides like wax next to a fire.

"Steve, I have this really big paper I need to work on - " Kate began to explain, but Steve held up the hand with the coupons to politely stop her.

"Just hear me out for one minute," pleaded Steve.

Kate sighed. "Okay."

Steve smiled wider. "I propose to you two options. The first is a casual, platonic hangout at a disgusting deli that my friend and I have tried out a couple of times before. We talk, but we don't hold hands, we don't do the awkward first-date rituals, and I don't pay for dinner." Steve opened his hand to let Kate see the coupons to the local deli. "The second option, which I personally prefer, is a romantic date at any nice restaurant you want to go to. We _do_ do all the awkward first-date rituals, we have a great time, and I give you these very nice roses."

"What happens to the flowers if I say yes to the first option?"

"I give them out to random people on the subway, I guess."

Kate laughed, which encouraged Steve to step closer and extend both hands to her expectantly.

"So which is it, Kate?" he asked.

Kate glanced up at him, devastatingly wreaking havoc with her thick, long eyelashes and blue eyes with hints of green. She smiled faintly, and he smiled back.

* * *

**HA, CLIFFHANGER! Will Kate go out with Steve, or will I spare Natasha the pain? You won't know until the next chapter MUAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA! I is evil.**


	9. Dating, Heartbreak and Laser Tag

**Heh, I was just about to update when a guest reviewer commented on how it's been a while since I've updated. I apologize for that, folks! It was totally my bad. I usually email QuirkyRevelations with the draft of the next chapter so she can beta-read it, but I forgot to attach it in the last email I sent to her. Therefore, this chapter is kinda late in coming. Ah well.**

* * *

Clint stuck his straw into his chocolate shake several times, trying to break apart the clumps that were floating around; he always hated when a shake didn't have the usual smooth, creamy texture to it. Natasha's green eyes went up and down with the motion of the blue straw as she absent-mindedly munched on her cheeseburger. She and Clint were sitting at an outside table of the burger place that they went to whenever they had time for an off-campus lunch. Natasha was glancing at her phone for the thousandth time when it finally rang. A picture of Steve with his Brooklyn Dodgers cap and his typical adorable smile appeared on the screen, so she quickly answered the call.

"Rogers, where are you?" Natasha asked, doing a masterful job at sounding unconcerned.

"Hey, Natasha," Steve's charming voice greeted. "Listen, I'm really sorry about this but I have to cancel lunch with you and Clint. I was doing something with Kate, and I thought we would be done by the time lunch came around, but…"

Natasha bit her lip disappointedly before answering, "It's okay, I understand. I'll tell Clint."

"Okay, take care."

Natasha hung up, but before she could say anything, Clint guessed, "Cap's a no-show, huh?"

Natasha shook her head.

"Too bad, I know he loves this place," said Clint. "Next time."

"If there is a next time," Natasha replied, with a touch of annoyance.

Clint frowned. "Something bothering you?"

"I'm just wondering if he's going to be ditching us regularly now to be with Kate."

"C'mon, give the guy a break. It's the first girlfriend he's had in ages. Anyway, this is the first time he's actually cancelled anything with us." Natasha grunted. "I thought you wanted Steve and Kate to be together."

"I do," Natasha shot back defensively.

"Then why do you have an issue?"

"I don't."

"Okay, okay, fine. Geez, women are so weird."

"_You don't know the half of it_," Natasha thought miserably.

* * *

Natasha had gotten over most of her weird mood by the next morning, when she was working the first shift of that week with Steve. Their rhythm together was fluid and efficient, on par with Natasha's old shifts with Clint, during the best and worst of the morning rush. Kate stopped by briefly, but she had a morning class so she couldn't chat long with Steve; she did stay long enough for them to arrange a date that night, though. Towards the conclusion of their shift, a young man with dark brown eyes, chains hanging from the pockets of his ripped jeans, and high-top sneakers walked in. He had a scruff of hair on his pointed chin that matched the color of his eyes, as well as a dark blue bandana wrapped around his head. The faint smell of smoke lingered on him as he leaned over the counter, bringing his face far closer to Natasha's than was appropriate.

"How are you, little lady?" he asked charmingly.

"Tired and ready to end my shift," sighed Natasha, who smiled politely at the same time; at Steve's request, she had been trying to be nicer to all the customers, even the overly flirty ones who tried to get in her personal space. "What'll it be today?"

"What do you recommend?"

"Well this guy's favorite seems to be the macchiato," Natasha answered as she gestured to Steve, who was busy working the espresso machine behind her.

"What about _yours_?"

"The Red Eye."

"I'll have that then."

"Red Eye, Rogers!"

"Got it!" Steve exclaimed.

The customer paid for his drink and stuffed a roll of dollar bills into the tip jar (he chuckled at the cartoon on it). Natasha was aware of his stare while she took care of the next few customers, and was glad when he finally got his drink and disappeared. At the end of their shift, Steve wiped his forehead and untied his apron after several awkward minutes.

* * *

"Count the tips?" he requested.

Natasha nodded, dumping out the cash from the jar and counting out the bills, until she came to the money the flirty customer had left. In the middle of the wad of bills was a card with his name and number; on the back he had written "Hey Natasha, call me!" He must have written that while she was busy counting out his change at the register, and then snuck it into the tip jar for her to find later. How like a coward!

Steve looked over Natasha's shoulder and said, "Uh… that guy left his number?"

"Yeah," muttered Natasha.

"Are you going to call him?" Steve asked, hating how much he cared to know the answer.

Natasha shook her head. "That guy is so not my type."

Steve almost said "Good," but he caught himself. Instead he said, "Okay, I'll see you tomorrow" and hurried out just as Clint came in.

* * *

Steve and Kate had a wonderful three weeks together before disaster knocked on their door. They went to the movies (Kate never made him see a horror film), to the local café (Steve couldn't handle Clint or Natasha watching at the coffee shop), or to his secret spots on the campus (which no one, not even Natasha, knew about). Despite her embarrassed protests, Steve made several sketches of Kate, drawing the smooth slope of her nose, the dimples on her cheeks, and the quirk of her lips when she smiled. They talked about art a lot, although Kate found a wall between herself and what Steve called his "raw" art. When Steve asked her about her studies, she replied that she was pursuing nursing; ever since she told him that, Steve would ask her all sorts of medical questions to make her feel uncomfortable when she didn't know the answer. And people said Steve didn't have a sense of humor.

On the day that marked their third week of dating, Steve decided to surprise Kate at her dorm ("_Geez, when did I become the guy that celebrates week-anniversaries?_" he thought amusedly to himself). He asked for suggestions from Natasha, and following her advice he dressed in his navy blue blazer, slacks, and dress shirt before he stopped at Kate's door with a new necklace in a velvet box. Natasha had gone shopping with him, and after much bickering they had decided on a simple silver necklace that had two hands forming a heart. As Steve stood in front of Kate's doors, he realized that loud conversations was already going on inside. He heard the familiar sound of Kate's laugh and her exclaiming "Oh, Peggy, you're too much" before knocking on the door. Kate called "Door's unlocked!" automatically, thinking it was her roommate who had just left a few minutes beforehand. The only light in the room was the light from her open laptop (Kate had an odd quirk in which she felt she worked best in a "dark cave").

Kate was having a video chat with someone, so she wasn't really aware of Steve setting down the gift bag with the necklace and sitting in her roommate's desk chair. For the next minute Kate continued her conversation animatedly, which made Steve feel awkward considering he came to talk to Kate himself. Steve was just wondering who on earth Kate could be talking so excitedly to, when the other person on the video chat laughed at a story Kate was telling. Steve tensed up to the point that even his pupils were stiffly locked in place; that laugh, he hadn't heard it in a thousand years, but he had heard it enough before that he recognized it after a few seconds of mental processing. Steve cocked his head up and glued his gaze to the woman on the screen, who had short, curly brown hair and charming brown eyes that had weakened his knees in days long past.

"Sharon Carter, you are so bad!" the woman teased.

Kate shook her head. "I told you, I'm known as Kate now!"

The woman gasped. "Uh-oh, I think you're boyfriend is here. I can see the poor guy huddling in a corner over there."

Kate inhaled sharply and stiffened. "Uh, I'm going to have to call you back later."

"Sure thing," answered the woman before signing off.

A fatal silence dwelled in the small dorm room, making Kate wish more than anything that she could shut her laptop and disappear into darkness forever.

"I recognize you now," Steve said quietly. "You're Peggy's cousin. I never met you, but you two were close."

Kate nodded. "I changed my name after coming to college. I wanted a fresh start."

"Well you certainly got it, didn't you?" Steve said angrily, standing up to leave.

Kate stood up as well. "Oh Steve, please don't - "

"You lied to me," Steve asserted, as hurt underlined the fury in his voice.

"I didn't li- " Kate stopped herself and sighed. "I didn't tell you because I was afraid you would hold it against me. It was why I said no to you when you first asked me out."

Steve turned away, unable to see Kate's face without also seeing Peggy's.

"I really liked you, Kate," he murmured.

"I really liked you too," Kate said, upset that they were already talking about their feelings in the past tense. "I didn't want to tell you the truth, because I didn't want to mess things up between us. And there's one more thing… I'm not actually studying to be a nurse."

"What? Why would you lie about that?"

"I wanted to impress you, and then I was too embarrassed to tell the truth. I have no idea what I want to study. I'm so sorry, Steve."

Steve stopped, his back turned to Kate, and took a shuddering breath. "I am, too."

Steve opened the door and walked out without even a word of farewell, forgetting that he was leaving the gift bag behind. After she had dried her tears, Kate found the necklace inside, and tears flowed anew down her chapped red cheeks. How had she managed to so royally mess everything up?

* * *

One afternoon, Natasha was debating on whether to watch another episode of Gossip Girl or to try to get ahead on homework when Tony called. At first she thought it was Steve, because it was his picture that showed up on her screen before she picked up, but the voice that began babbling at her was definitely not Steve's.

"Natasha, you need to come over to the apartment right now," informed the voice. "911 status, big time!"

"Who is this?" Natasha demanded.

"Tony, Steve's roommate. We met at a frat party that one time."

"Right, okay. So what's the problem? I noticed Steve didn't come to work Friday morning, and he hasn't picked up his phone."

"It's Kate. They had some sort of falling out on Thursday, but he refuses to talk about it. I was hoping you could, I dunno, give female advice? If anyone can get him to talk, it's you."

"I'll be right there."

"Thanks."

* * *

Steve was slumped on the living room couch watching Netflix when Natasha kicked open the door. Steve barely glanced up from his laptop long enough to grunt at her, before returning his lethargic attention to the screen. Natasha squeezed onto the couch and watched for any sign of the lovable, optimistic Steve underneath the depressed, apathetic Steve sitting next to her. All she could see was sunken eyes, a chapped nose, torn sweatpants, and stubble along his jaw. It was the stubble that threw Natasha off the most; had she ever seen Steve _not _clean-shaven?

Natasha nudged Steve. "Hey."

"Hey," he muttered despondently.

"Tony called me. He sounded really worried about you."

"I'll be fine."

"What happened?"

Steve sighed frustratedly and paused the show he was watching. "It didn't work out, okay? Your match made in heaven fell apart."

"_What happened_?"

Steve turned his profile away from Natasha and let silence reign between them for a minute before he finally said, "She lied to me."

"I'm sure there were good intentions behind it," Natasha assured him. "People make mistakes, and you have to cut them some slack sometimes."

A strangled, grunting noise choked up Steve's throat for a second, and he wiped his eyes.

"It's not just the lying," Steve replied. "I found out something that I really can't ignore."

Natasha waited for Steve to explain, but he didn't.

"What is it?" she prompted.

"She's Peggy's cousin," he said dully.

Natasha gasped and laid a hand on Steve's shoulder. "Kate is Peggy's cousin? I had no idea."

"Of course you didn't. How could you? I feel so stupid about the whole thing."

"Are you really going to sacrifice your happiness with Kate because she happens to be related to an old girlfriend?"

"She wasn't just an old girlfriend! She was the first person I ever loved, and you have no idea how hard it was to get over her."

Steve let his head fall into his hands and moved his fingers up and down to try to massage the stress out of his face. Natasha studied him carefully, as a frown developed on her porcelain face and as her mouth pursed outward.

"Are you really over her?" Natasha asked.

Steve puffed out a long, exhausted sigh. "The thing is, you never forget your first love. You can move on, but you can't forget. Kate's face… it's now a reminder of a relationship long gone. I couldn't have gone on like that."

"I understand," Natasha sighed sympathetically.

"You do?"

Natasha nodded. "You're not the only person in this room to have a first love. Although, I would say things ended a lot better with you and Peggy."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Natasha grinned and elbowed Steve. "We're here to discuss your woeful love life, not mine."

Steve laughed, probably for the first time in days. Before she could make a move to get away, Steve wrapped Natasha in a hug, which she returned after some hesitation. Natasha thought of the multiple times she had gripped onto Steve as she rode on the back of his motorcycle. She felt like this sensation, the feeling of his arms around her as her arms were around him, was entirely different - and entirely better. Recognizing how intoxicating the embrace had become, Natasha retreated from Steve's grasp, grabbed a pillow, and hugged it to herself instead.

"Are you feeling better?" she inquired.

"A little," he answered. "Thank you."

"All right, then stop watching Cake Boss, give yourself a shave, and for goodness' sake, take a bath!"

Steve laughed again and nodded. He started walking down the corridor to the bathroom, but he discovered Tony hiding just past the doorway to the kitchen. Steve crossed his arms and stared inquisitively at a guilty Tony, who had clearly been eavesdropping.

"I'm fine, Tony, you can stop slinking around the apartment," Steve told him.

"Yeah yeah, just do as the lady says and take a bath," urged Tony, brushing past a grinning Steve (who was touched to see how much his roommate cared).

Tony walked Natasha to the door and said, "Thanks for that. I had no idea how to end his slump."

"I don't think he's in the clear quite yet," warned Natasha. "You should take him out somewhere - not a party - and get him to have a little fun. He could use it."

"Could you help me with that? I've never been good at planning - Pepper and Steve have told me this multiple times."

"Sure. Call me later, but don't let Steve know."

"Keep it a surprise?"

"You bet."

* * *

"Laser tag? That's the big weekend plan you and Nat were unsuccessfully trying to make a surprise?"

Tony bristled, glaring at his roommate for a few seconds before returning his eyes to the road; he couldn't risk looking too long at Steve, because not paying attention meant car accidents, and car accidents meant damaging his precious, sleek black roadster.

"Just for your terrible attitude, I will personally laser your butt to smithereens - not that there's much of a butt to begin with."

"Hey!"

"You give snark, you get snark, buddy."

"Okay but seriously, whose idea was it?"

"It doesn't matter. You, Natasha, Clint, Pepper and I are doing this, and we'll make you like it if we have to."

"Don't forget Clint's girlfriend Bobbi."

Tony snorted. "Who invited her anyway?"

"Who do you think, dunce?"

"Call me names one more time and I will push the button for the ejector seat."

Natasha, Clint, Pepper, and Bobbi were already at the laser tag zone when Tony and Steve showed up. Sam would have been glad to be there, but his professor tacked on a last-minute rewrite of a paper he would spend most of the weekend doing. Tony wanted to have a guys versus girls game for the first round, and once they entered the black-lit room, the guys reigned supreme. Pepper and Bobbi weren't the athletic type, and because they would make a noise of surprise whenever they got hit, the guys always knew where they were. Even though her team lost, however, Natasha individually scored the second-highest out of everyone - thanks to her stealthy moves and accurate aim. Clint had the first highest score, which led him to privately suggest an alliance to Natasha, who smiled slyly.

The teams were rearranging for the second game, when Clint said, "Natasha and I versus all of you. Right now."

Everyone became a chorus of confused exclamations and disbelieving comments.

"You can't be serious, Clint," scoffed Tony. "The two of you versus the four of us?"

"Well, no offense to Pepper or my wonderful Bobbi," began Clint, "but it's really a two-on-two match."

"It's true," sighed Pepper and Bobbi.

"So it's Barton & Romanoff versus Rogers & Stark… and then Potts & Morse," said Tony. "Am I right?"

"You are," affirmed Natasha.

Clint and Natasha destroyed the opposing team's base within the first five minutes, and they would have re-destroyed it several more times if the rules allowed it. A few times Clint saw a flash of Tony's vest and stunned him by hitting the dead center of his back with just one fire. Natasha picked off Bobbi and Pepper many times, until they decided to huddle in a corner together for the rest of the game. Clint and Natasha left them alone after that, preferring the challenge that Tony and Steve offered. Natasha had yet to come across Steve, however, which smarted her pride, because a man his size should have been easy to catch. She would bet that her archer friend had already nailed him at least a dozen times.

She knew the time for the game was lowering to a mere minute or so as she slowly circled around one of the higher walls. Her back was facing the wall, but her face was turned to the side to look for Tony - whom she was certain she heard muttering under his breath. Suddenly, Natasha's shoulder bumped against someone else's, and she whirled around as the other person did the same. Natasha froze when she recognized Steve staring with boggled eyes, but before she could say or do anything, a shrill bell rang out. A voice blared from the speakers on all the corners of the room to announce that the game was over, so Steve and Natasha dropped their phasers and let them dangled at their sides.

"Pizza!" Tony shouted. "Who's ready for pizza?"

Finally broken from their stupor, Steve and Natasha walked out to join their friends. They were all looking at the score board, and Clint was currently gloating to an annoyed Tony.

"It was a tie!" Tony protested. "Our teams tied."

"Even so, in individual rankings I beat your butt by a mile!" whooped Clint.

While Tony shook his head, Clint continued reading the scores and adding his comments accordingly.

"Oooh, Steve and Natasha were neck-and-neck!" He whistled. "Nice job, guys. Tony comes next, then Pepper, then… oh this means that Bobbi is in last place." Clint turned to an embarrassed Bobbi. "We're going to have to work on your accuracy."

"Ah yes, the best way to improve accuracy is to train with a guy who has the eyes of a hawk," drawled Tony.

"Oh, so do you want to join Bobbi's lessons?" Clint grinned.

Tony snorted.

* * *

**So, the good news is that I have finished writing this FanFiction like I wanted to. The bad news is that classes start next Tuesday, so I probably won't have time to actually publish all the rest before summer is over. I'm probably just going to have to send the remaining chapters as one installment to QuirkyRevelations soon. That way everything is at least beta-read before school starts and I can update whenever I have the chance. ****We have three chapters and an epilogue to go, so the end is definitely in sight. Until the next chapter, readers!**


	10. Cupid's Arrow

**First off, thank you for all of your support for CWIACS (hey, it has an acronym now!). It's really appreciated on this front.**

* * *

When a rock'n roll song woke Natasha up from her late afternoon nap, she irritably realized that Clint had changed her ringtone… again. After blinking several times, her eyes pieced together the image of Steve on her phone, and she automatically smiled and picked up.

"I was having a lovely nap, and you just ruined it," she told him dryly.

"Good, Lazy Pants," Steve retorted. "Dress in something you don't mind getting dirty and come outside."

Natasha sat up. "What?"

"Nice bed head by the way."

Natasha's gaze swung to the window next to her bed, and sure enough Steve was waving at her from outside. His cheeky grin was somehow both irritating and endearing.

"You really should keep the blinds closed if you don't want anyone seeing inside," Steve informed her lightly.

"Got that right," Natasha replied as she closed the blinds. "Who knows what kind of creep could be looking through my window right now?"

"I know right? Be ready in five."

* * *

Natasha was dressed in gray sweatpants that she had cut into shorts, and a black T-shirt that she had forgotten she even had. Steve, who was as casually dressed, nodded in approval and gestured for her to walk next to him.

"So what's this about, Rogers?" Natasha inquired.

"I need your help with an assignment," answered Steve.

"What kind of assignment?"

"It's an art project. I'm supposed to teach a complete novice in art how to do a self-portrait."

"What? I can't draw!"

"That's the _point_, Nat."

"Yeah, but… I'm not good at drawing."

"The best way for me to learn art is to teach it. At least that's what my professor says. Will you please do this for me? We can do anything you want afterward."

"How long is this going to take?"

"I don't know. It depends on if you're as terrible as you say you are."

Natasha rolled her eyes and elbowed Steve in the ribs. "Okay, I'll do it."

Throughout the drawing session, Natasha was reminded of the time when she was in elementary school and an artist guided the class through a similar project. Her finished work was actually more than decent for a kid her age, but when she had taken it home, the man who was her father took no notice. If it were Ivan, he would have put it on the Refrigerator Door of Fame, regardless of whether the artwork was a jumble of scribbles. That was the good thing about Ivan raising Natasha instead of her "real" father. Unfortunately though, the lack of attention of her then-father had induced Natasha to give up any form of drawing - even random doodles on the margins of her notes.

Steve had now given Natasha an excuse to hold a drawing pencil in her hand again, but she wasn't sure if she was grateful or not. The experience was reminding her of unpleasant memories from her childhood, after all. Yet, the patience and gentleness Steve had been showing her as he gave her pointers could not be ignored either. He told her it helped to have the photograph she was copying and the self-portrait upside down and side-by-side. He was right about that, so she was able to make adjustments accordingly. After what seemed like hours, Natasha had gray from the graphite on her fingertips and on the sides of her palms. The basic gist of the self-portrait was finished, although there were a lot of shading and adjustments that still needed to be done.

At the end, Steve showed her the pictures and short videos he had taken with his camera to document her progress. This way he could prove to his professor that he was actually guiding her along the way rather than doing it himself. It was after Steve told her that he would be showing the photos and videos to his class as part of the project that Natasha regretted coming so sloppily dressed.

"Why did you tell me to come in something I didn't mind dirtying?" Natasha inquired.

"Oh yes, do you see that wall behind you?" Steve asked.

Steve pointed to the wall behind them, which had a roughly done mural of the faces of several U.S. Presidents with a red "X" crossed over them. Clearly a political message.

"Every week someone volunteers to paint that wall according to whichever unit we're on in class," Steve explained. "This week is my turn, and we are doing the freedom unit."

"Freedom unit?" Natasha echoed confusedly.

Steve grinned. "It involves us doing anything we want. We're going to learn some stuff about abstract art, but the professor didn't want to put that kind of label on it. She wants us to break all the rules that we've been learning so far. Everyone wanted to do the wall this week, but my hand shot up first."

"So what do you need me to do?"

Steve began opening closet doors and pulling out paint bottles. "I asked Professor Mann if I could ask for your help on the wall, since you're already my trainee for the drawing project. She said it was all right."

"Okay, cool. So what's the plan?"

Steve smirked. "This is the freedom unit. There is no plan."

* * *

"Thicker strokes, Nat."

"This is the_ freedom unit_," Natasha responded mockingly. "Leave me to paint in peace."

Despite her sass, Natasha did as Steve told her, which didn't go by unnoticed.

"Abstract artist Kandinsky thought that colors provoked emotions," Steve said, as he swiped a wide stroke of blue across the wall. "Red was confident, green was peaceful, blue was deep and supernatural, yellow was warm, exciting, or totally crazy. White was quiet, but it was full of possibilities."

"Interesting," murmured Natasha, who was listening but also concentrating hard on the exact shape of red she wanted to create with her paintbrush.

"He also assigned instrument sounds to every color," Steve continued. "Red: a trumpet. Green: middle-position violin. Light blue: a flute. Dark blue: a cello. Yellow: a fanfare of trumpets. White: a pause in the melody."

"I don't know how colors can sound like anything."

"Really? I totally can. I can hear the trumpet even as you're painting right now."

Natasha scoffed. "Get out."

"No, really. You don't get what Kandinsky is talking about?"

"Nope, but that's okay. It must be an artist thing."

"Hm." After a pause, Steve looked at Natasha. "Thinner strokes."

"Gah!"

* * *

By the time they had covered almost half the wall with differently colored strokes, Natasha and Steve may or may not have gotten into a paint fight. They seemed to get into fights like that a lot. It didn't matter, though, since it was better than getting into any real arguments. Steve offered Natasha a chance to use his washing machine (free of charge), as well as eat leftover pizza at his apartment. Natasha couldn't resist accepting, so she went with him to his apartment after they had cleaned up the art classroom they had been working in. While her and Steve's clothes were being rolled around in the washing machine, Natasha borrowed one of Steve's T-shirts and a pair of gym shorts. The shirt was so big on her that she couldn't see the bottoms of her shorts, but she knew she had them on and that was enough. The sight of Natasha in his burgundy Harvard T-shirt, with her messy red curls springing out of her bun, was almost too much for Steve **(1)**. Natasha sat next to Steve on the couch, and to distract himself he scrolled through suggestions from Netflix as he tried to pick a movie.

"Anything in particular you want to see?" Steve asked.

"Not really."

Steve ended up picking a random Indie film that he had never seen before, and, hoping for the best, laid back on the couch. Natasha leaned slightly against him, and Steve did a marvelous job chewing down his smile. The first ten minutes were going by very slowly, so Natasha decided to strike up conversation until the movie got more interesting.

"How are you doing, Rogers?" she asked before she bit her pizza slice.

"Fine," he answered easily.

"No, really," insisted Natasha. "I know you were really upset after you and Kate broke up."

"Oh… that. Actually, I've already kind of forgotten about it."

"What? Didn't you like her?"

"I did, but I didn't know her for very long. And you've done a really good job of distracting me since then."

"Me?" If it were anyone else, Natasha's tone would have been considered nervous.

"Yeah, you and Tony with that laser tag thing, and then hanging out with me and Clint a lot since then."

"Oh, I see."

Natasha cleared her throat and focused her green eyes on the computer screen, even though the movie wasn't getting much better. Steve watched her with intrigue for a minute or so, trying to see if she would say anything else. She ignored him.

"Have you ever been hurt in a relationship, Natasha?" he asked quietly.

"Haven't you heard that the Black Widow is the one who breaks hearts?"

"Yes, but I was just wondering… if that ever happened to you." Natasha didn't respond for a while, and Steve felt embarrassed for asking at all. "Never mind, you don't have to tell me."

Natasha closed her eyes and sighed.

"_I know I'm going to regret this_," she thought, before saying out loud, "I'll tell you."

Steve paused the movie and nodded for her to continue.

"His name was Alexi," Natasha said **(2)**. "I met him when I was in high school, and he was a few years older than me. I loved him and I thought he loved me too, but in the end I realized that love just wasn't in the cards for me."

"What happened?" questioned Steve.

"He cheated on me," Natasha answered with a snarl. "I dumped that good-for-nothing so fast, he was hardly aware the break-up even happened. I didn't have the heart to tell Dad for a month, especially since he _loved_ Alexi."

"What did he say when you told him?"

Natasha lowered her voice an octave when she responded in an imitation of Ivan, "'Oh, I _knew_ I never liked that guy.'"

Steve and Natasha snorted in amusement.

"I'm sorry that happened to you," Steve said sincerely.

Natasha nodded. "Me too. At least I figured out early on that the kind of love I dreamed about as a kid didn't exist - not for me anyway."

Steve shook his head, looking like he was about to protest, but Natasha wasn't inclined to hear it.

"I don't want to talk about this anymore," she stated. "Play the movie again."

"Okay," Steve agreed readily, tapping the space key to resume playing the movie. "Nat?"

"Mm?"

"Thanks for sharing that with me."

"Yeah, well, I figured you deserved to hear it, especially after I made you tell me about Peggy."

"Hm…"

Steve's murmur and the indistinguishable sounds buzzing from his computer were the last things Natasha remembered hearing before she fell… **(3)**

* * *

"Oh sure, it's a big deal when I have someone sleep over without giving you a heads up, but it's totally okay when _you_ do it."

This was Tony's greeting when Steve's eyes opened early the next morning, while Tony was trying to zip the zipper of an overly stuffed backpack. Tony had considered leaving without waking the two people sleeping on the couch, just to mess with them; however, he knew well that Steve needed his job at the coffee shop, and that his boss would be ticked if he were late. Therefore Tony's (very tiny) conscience won out in the end.

At first, Steve frowned in confusion at the curiously staring Tony, but he inhaled in surprise and understanding when he realized he felt a weight his chest. It was Natasha, freely snoozing precious minutes away and cuddling into his torso. He hadn't been cuddling any less, much to his embarrassment, as he realized his hand rested on her shoulder. Natasha mumbled indistinctly, and she readjusted herself in her sleep. Her hand slid down Steve's chest, causing a rash of goosebumps to rise all across his skin - which wasn't unpleasant, of course, but given the fact that his roommate was staring with an amused smirk, it wasn't a good thing.

"What do I do?" Steve whispered desperately.

"Sorry, you are on your own," grinned Tony, before he quietly went out the door.

Steve sighed. He supposed the only course of action was to try to escape Natasha's gentle grasp without waking her up.

When Natasha became aware of herself, she felt the shift of something warm underneath her. She didn't know what this something was, but she did know that she felt very comfortable and safe there, and that she didn't want to let it go. Natasha grumbled in protest and clutched the fabric underneath her hands to try to catch hold of whatever was trying to escape her. She heard a grunt of frustration, and since she knew it didn't come from her, she opened her eyes. When Natasha looked up, she found herself touching noses with Steve, whose eyes were wide with guilt and whose lips were sealed in a tight, nervous line. It didn't register right away that she was actually in such a compromising position with Steve, since it felt so unreal that she was confident it had to be a dream.

This notion, however, was broken when Steve stammered, "Um… hi."

Natasha gasped and scrambled off of the couch and off of Steve, before the feeling of his arms could be burned forever on her skin. Unfortunately, Steve was sometimes in the habit of wearing his father's dog tags instead of his usual Catholic cross; it was in this mass of dog tags that Natasha's own arrow necklace got tangled, and during the struggle it snapped off. Neither she nor Steve would notice this until it was too late. She fled with a hasty "See you at work, gotta go!" before Steve could squeeze in a word to remind her that she was still wearing his clothes. Steve banged his forehead with his hand once the door shut, wondering at how stupid he could be. Meanwhile, Natasha shivered slightly in the chilly morning air as she ran down the steps in front of Steve's apartment and dialed Clint's number.

"Yes?" Clint said groggily when he picked up.

"I'm at Steve's apartment," Natasha informed him hastily. "I need you to pick me up."

"Wha-?" Clint stopped and gasped. "Nat, you didn't - "

"No, I didn't," Natasha hissed. "It's complicated, just get over here!"

When Clint showed up, he cocked his eyebrows at what he easily recognized as Steve's shirt.

"Uh - "

"Not. One. Word."

Clint sighed and shook his head. "Fine. Hey, where's your necklace?"

Natasha's hand landed on her chest with a thud, and with horror she realized what must have happened.

"I must have left it at his apartment," she murmured.

"Ah well, that's okay. You can always get it back later…"

As Clint's car rolled away, Natasha looked back at the window to Steve's apartment and thought worriedly, "I'm not sure that I can." **(4)**

Steve, in his usual sweet way, later offered to buy Natasha a replacement necklace, but Natasha couldn't bring herself to accept. Unknowingly, unintentionally, and unalterably, he had taken something from her far more significant than a piece of metal on a chain, and it couldn't be bought back at a jeweler's. For so long Natasha had placed block after block between herself and him, but now she had begun to accept the truth - despite the fact that she still refused to voice it even to herself. For the sake of Steve - dear, stalwart, irritatingly moralistic Steve - she hoped that he would never know it. Clint knowing it, however, might have been unavoidable given the strange looks he had thrown her way ever since the incident. She could live with that, though. Clint was her unofficial brother, and she had always known him for pretty much staying off her back. Why would he start acting any differently now? Oh, if only he would have never given her that stupid necklace!

* * *

**(1) The Harvard T-shirt is a nod to Chris Evans' Harvard Hottie character in The Nanny Diaries, even though Steve doesn't go to Harvard. :D**

**(2) Alexi Shostakov is Natasha's ex-husband in the comics, or so I've heard. I don't know too much about him, but I used his name for Natasha's ex-boyfriend in this fic.**

**(3) No, I did not forget to put the word "sleep" here. Can you reviewers guess why? :P**

**(4) I feel like Natasha means so many things by that, don't you?**


	11. One and a Half Kisses

**I SURVIVED THE FIRST WEEK BACK TO COLLEGE, OHHHH YEAAAAAAHHHHHH! And on top of that, I am updating, so OHHH YEAAAAAAAAHHHHHH again.**

* * *

The first of several shifts in Steve and Natasha's friendship occurred when Steve did something almost unheard of: showing his raw art. At the end of the last day he and Natasha worked on her self-portrait, Steve brought out a draft of a piece he planned to submit to a college art contest. Once the shock from Steve opening himself up to her wore off, Natasha absorbed the sketch he had presented her with much thoughtfulness and perceptiveness. It was a rough sketch of a man not unlike Steve, sitting at a desk with a pencil and paper in front of him. He was looking out the window beside him, and Natasha could imagine the sun's fading light catching its last glimpse of his face before it disappeared. Filling in the soft pale colors that she knew Steve would add later, Natasha mentally refined the image to the work that she knew it would become. She liked the piece, to be sure, but Natasha had to ask herself if it was really winning material.

"I like it," Natasha told him, "except..."

"Something's missing," Steve finished.

Natasha nodded. "I don't know what it is. I think this piece is meant to be something more than just an image of you - as lovely as you are - "

"Thank you," Steve interjected.

Natasha smiled. "Something outside of yourself. That's what you need to put in there. An outside element that totally throws this artist's world into chaos."

Steve narrowed his eyes as the stared pensively at his rough draft, and then the idea came to him so forcefully and so delightfully that he laughed aloud.

"What? What is it?" asked Natasha, eager to know.

Steve shook his head. "I know what it needs, but you'll have to wait to see the final project."

"Oh man, why are you putting me under this agony? I would rather have seen it done than wait all the time between now and later."

"But then you wouldn't have been able to give me the feedback I needed. Thanks Natasha, I love you!"

The words had slipped out of Steve's mouth quite naturally, so that he didn't even notice exactly what he had said until he thought about it later. At the moment, Natasha just smiled warmly at him as he gathered his things and went. She knew what he had really meant when he said it, and Natasha was determined not to let it bother her like it might have before.

* * *

Steve, Natasha, Sam, Tony, and Pepper were having one of their study group sessions when _it_ happened. Even though the five of them were in vastly different classes and had to study for very different kinds of finals, they found ways to help each other all the same. Clint had called them crazy for having a study group with people that didn't even share the same current class. However, they turned out not to be crazy after all. Tony's mathematical genius came in handy for Sam's more brutal calculus problems; Steve's artistic creativity helped Pepper brainstorm ideas to spice up her presentation for her business class; Pepper's previous experience with Natasha's literature class allowed her to give several pointers for her paper. It was a strange mix of personalities and brains, but they discovered that they worked so well together, that Clint and Bobbi would join them later. On their second study session, however, Steve received a call that would eventually lead to quite a shake-up in the dynamic of the group - more specifically to his relationship with Natasha. Steve and Natasha were heavily engaged in a debate about whether Raskolnikov from Crime & Punishment was a deranged criminal, or just a misunderstood, misunderstanding man (one can probably guess who was on what side). Suddenly, Steve's phone buzzed, and Natasha was surprised that he stopped their heated argument to answer the call.

"This is Steve," he said formally, which was odd even for him.

Natasha watched Steve listening intently to the person speaking, and therefore saw the full wave of shock and joy wash over his features. Amazingly, Steve kept his voice calm and professional, not offering even a hint that he looked like he was about to explode with happiness.

"That's great news, ma'am," Steve said. "I can't wait to talk to you more about this. Have a good day."

By now the others were watching Steve with intrigue, and they nearly fell out of their chairs from surprise when Steve abruptly stood up and whooped in his loudest voice (it was a good thing they hadn't studied in the library that day).

"Guys, my painting won!" exclaimed Steve in a thrilled voice.

"Won what?" inquired Sam.

"Our school's art contest," answered Steve. "I submitted my work, and since it got first place, they'll display it in the student gallery next week!"

Everyone stood up to congratulate Steve, who went around high-fiving them and grinning like he had just gotten the best present from under the Christmas tree. He finally came to Natasha while the others were babbling about the news, and she smiled with all her teeth.

"Good job, Rogers," she congratulated.

"I couldn't have done it without you!" reminded Steve. "Thank you!"

As he said the last two words, Steve bent down to quickly kiss Natasha's cheek; in his high excitement, however, he missed his intended mark. He ended up kissing a portion of Natasha's mouth, making an odd half-kiss on her cheek, and half-kiss on her lips. Natasha's world screeched to a standstill, but since Steve's mind was at such a buzz, he continued in his hyperactive cheer mode like before. Only Clint saw her reaction to the partial kiss, while everyone else kept clapping Steve on the back. Natasha softly brushed her fingers against her lips and stared at Steve with a mix of feelings that even Clint's eyes had trouble deciphering. Steve's enthusiasm clearly wasn't about to burn down any time soon, so Clint wondered how long it would take for him to realize what he had inadvertently done to Natasha. He wondered if Steve would ever realize it.

* * *

If Steve ever processed the fact that he had (at least partly) kissed Natasha, he didn't give a hint of this knowledge the next time she saw him. Natasha felt both relieved and disappointed. To make sure she kept Steve unaware of the dizzying thoughts he had unleashed in her, Natasha readily accepted his offer of a casual hangout after the next study session. The two of them decided to go to a local mall to pick up food that maybe wasn't entirely good for them and to buy things that maybe wasn't entirely necessary for them. They were in the middle of preparation for finals season, though. They felt like they had sufficient reason to cheat on their healthy diets and on their wallets for at least a day.

As they walked out of a video game store, Natasha elbowed Steve and said, "I've been meaning to ask, what's with the dorky glasses?"

Steve was wearing black-rimmed glasses that the stereotypical nerd was known for wearing, save for the tape in the middle. He had perfect vision, so he didn't need the glasses to see - a fact which Natasha knew well.

"They're not dorky!" protested Steve. "I just like the way I look in glasses, is that such a crime?"

"A crime against fashion," Natasha retorted cheekily, even though she secretly thought Steve looked cute in them - you know, in a geeky sort of way.

Steve scoffed, pushed up his glasses, and said in a nasally voice, "Says you."

As the stepped onto an escalator, Natasha tried without success not to snort with laughter. Steve laughed along with her, until he saw something that made him cut short his mirth with a sharp intake of breath. Feeling the sudden tension of her friend, Natasha turned around to look at him inquiringly.

"What's up?" she questioned.

"Kate, other escalator, headed our way," Steve muttered quickly.

Natasha sneaked a glance behind her shoulder, and confirmed that Kate, who was chatting amiably with a girlfriend, was approaching the other escalator. Natasha and Steve were going down, and she was going to go up, so it looked like their meeting was going to be inevitable. Natasha's eyes snapped back to Steve's when she felt his hands clasp the sides of her arms and his fingers dig into her.

"Hide me!" he whispered desperately.

"_How am I supposed to make a ten foot tall man discreet?_" Natasha thought.

Perhaps it was because of the incident yesterday that she hadn't really stopped thinking about, but there was only one thing that Natasha could come up with in that split second.

"Kiss me," she murmured.

"What?" he said, as his eyes widened even more.

"Public displays of affection make people very uncomfortable."

"Yes, they do."

She didn't think, but rather acted in a motion swifter than can be described in words; she put her hand on the side of his face, wrapped her fingers around the back of his neck, and dragged his mouth to hers. Natasha swiped her thumb across his cheek, as he tilted his head in the kiss and as he placed a very gentle hand on her hip. They held each other in this way, until Natasha opened her eyes and caught Kate's blond head passing by in her peripheral vision; Natasha's scheme must have worked, because Kate didn't seem to have noticed her or Steve. Natasha pulled her lips from Steve's, but did she turn around like she should have? No, she just stood there, pressed against Steve in the crowd of people and still holding the back of his neck with her hand. His hand hadn't fallen away from her hip either, and his eyes swam with as much confusion and awe as hers. Then, Natasha felt the steps begin leveling out, and she finally turned away from the terrifying gaze of Steve.

"There," Natasha exhaled, "you avoided an awkward conversation… with Kate."

"Mhm, yeah," stammered Steve, clearing his throat with evident discomfort.

That must have been the last few words left in their vocabulary, because they didn't say much else to each other afterward.

* * *

Natasha still had one more paragraph to write for her paper, but she was too consumed with pacing back and forth in her room to do it. She couldn't stop thinking about the kiss (or technically, kiss_es_). The Black Widow didn't do this. She didn't replay a kiss a million times in her head, she didn't ache for that elation in her chest that came during the kiss. The Black Widow also didn't do relationships. Even if she were to settle with one guy, and do the gushy romantic stuff that she had always abhored, it would end badly. It always, always ended badly. In terms of successful and even loving relationships with a man, she had only succeeded in the platonic kind, which came in the form of Ivan and Clint. Even then, there was always a fear that the Widow's Curse would strike, cruelly and swiftly like it had done with all her boyfriends. And yet... she still, stupidly, wanted to try it with Steve... maybe. Actually, no. But possibly yes. The back and forth of her thoughts matched the back and forth of her movement across the blue carpeted floor of her dorm room, and it was maddening. There was nowhere for her to turn to for help, either. She didn't have any girlfriends to talk to about this, her father would go ballistic if he knew Natasha (maybe) had feelings for Steve, and Clint, well, was Clint.

Natasha wondered what it would be like to kiss Steve in a context that didn't involve avoiding an ex-girlfriend, or doing it just for the fun of it like she'd done with other guys. Natasha had a terrible suspicion that she wouldn't stop wondering until she talked to Steve, and talked to him right now. She dialed Steve's number, but since he didn't answer, she decided to talk to him in person. Natasha figured that the most likely places he would be were either his apartment or the art classroom that they had worked together in. She started with the apartment. When she got there, Tony told her that Steve was out with an old friend at a café down the block. Natasha's eyes captured his distinctly styled blond hair from a distance, but she exerted enough willpower to not run or even speed walk to him despite her impatience. As she came forward, however, she saw something across Steve's table that stunted her movement altogether. A young woman with loosely curled, chocolate brown hair, bright red lips, and light brown eyes was smiling at Steve from across the way. Natasha's eyes flickered down, and she noticed that the woman's hand was on Steve's.

Natasha edged closer to the table, but hid behind a small tree and fidgeted with her phone to appear nonchalant. She subtly leaned her ear towards them, and thus began to hear their conversation. It seemed like they really were old friends, from the familiarity in their tones and the genuine smiles on their faces. Natasha wondered why Tony didn't mention that the person Steve was meeting was a woman; then again, given Tony's teasing personality, if she were Steve she probably wouldn't have told him the friend was a woman either.

"I'm so sorry about what happened between us," the woman said, suddenly sounding sadder and more nostalgic than she had before.

"It wasn't your fault," Steve insisted.

"Still, it hurt you, and it hurt me as well. It's never easy to forget the first person you ever loved."

"No, it isn't. You know that I couldn't forget my best girl, Peggy."

Natasha grimaced. It was as she had feared from the moment she glimpsed the face of the beautiful brunette woman. Steve was reconnecting with his lost flame Peggy - how he did it was a mystery to Natasha. Either way, she wouldn't intrude on the two of them, taking this as a sign that Peggy and Steve were somehow "meant to be". Star crossed lovers and all that. Natasha shoved her phone into her pocket, and walked away without once turning back to that cozy little table.

* * *

Steve and Peggy obliviously continued their conversation after Natasha left, although Steve did have an odd sensation that they were being watched. Steve turned around in his chair and saw no one, and then he peeked into the window of the café.

"Geez, when is Kate coming back?" Steve wondered aloud. "How long does it to get them to fix her order?"

"I don't think they messed it up at all," informed Peggy. "I think she faked it so that we could have a few minutes alone to talk things out."

"Ah. I should've figured that out."

"You never were good at figuring out the mental schemes of women."

"Ha ha. I'm going to get Kate, and thank her for arranging… well, this."

"It was good to get closure."

Steve smiled. "Yes, it really was."

* * *

"Where is it?" Natasha muttered to herself.

She was rifling through her purse to look for the number of the guy that had flirted with her at the coffee shop a little while back. She had decided to keep it after all in case she was ever bored or desperate; at the moment, she was definitely the latter. Finally, she caught the scrawl of his writing on the paper, and lifted it up victoriously. If Steve was going to go out with Peggy again, Natasha was not going to deny him that happiness, regardless of the feelings she might or might not have. In the meantime, Mr. Bandanna would be the perfect distraction for her to resume her normal, feeling-free life - or at least that's what Natasha hoped. Natasha speedily dialed the number, and a few rings later she heard the low drawl of Mr. Bandanna's (slightly cocky) voice.

"This is the Mikester," he greeted smoothly.

"_Oh great, he talks about himself in the third person_," Natasha thought with distaste; she wondered if she should just hang up, but then who else could she call?

"Yes, this is Natasha," Natasha finally said. "I'm the barista from the coffee shop. Remember me?"

"Hey, of course I do, Tash," he replied charmingly.

Natasha thought it was a little early for this guy to start using a familiar nickname like that, but never mind.

"How would you like going to a movie some time?" Natasha asked in the sweet, sultry tone she always adopted when she was pursuing her prey.

"Sounds groovy."

Natasha rolled her eyes at the expression, but said in an amiable tone, "Great, I'll see you at the theater at six tomorrow."

* * *

**C'mon julliet15, an "I love you!" and one and a half kisses, yet they're STILL not together? We're at over 30,000 words here! I know, I know. Their relationship development has been painfully slow, but when the Black Widow is involved, can it be any different? I do see the end in sight, which means you soon will, too. Please, bear with me, and bear with these two dorks I'm writing about!**

**Did you guys at least like how I rewrote the kiss scene from CATWS? I like how it still has the element of using a kiss as a technique of disguise, but at the same time there's more romantic tension stuffed into it (for the Romanogers shippers, of course!).**


	12. The Cold War Ends

**Oh my gosh wait, is this the last chapter? *gasp* It is! I know you've been waiting a while for this (believe me, I have too!), so I hope you enjoy it.**

* * *

When Steve came into the coffee shop the next morning, Natasha was already behind the counter refilling supplies. Steve frowned, since this was the first time since he'd started working there that Natasha had arrived before him. Not only that, but despite the passing smile she had directed at him when he walked in, Steve could see the tension in her shoulders and a vacant look in her eyes. Natasha didn't think Steve could read her as easily as she could read him, but she was wrong. Steve knew from the moment he walked into the shop that something was off about her, and his typical determined way, he was set to find out what it was.

"What's up, Nat?" Steve inquired.

"Nothin' just working," Natasha replied nonchalantly, stacking up cups without looking Steve in the eye.

"Uh-huh..."

Steve watched Natasha curiously as he grabbed his apron, but she offered no sign that she was going to start a conversation with him. After a minute of struggling with the strings at the back of his apron, Steve glanced pathetically and helplessly at her.

"Hey, Nat, can you tie my apron?" he asked meekly; in his confusion about Natasha, he had become more unable than usual to tie his own apron.

Natasha huffed and marched toward him, while he turned around to allow her to tie the apron with a few quick movements of her hands.

"You're hopeless," she said dully.

Natasha said this often when she had to tie Steve's apron, but this day in particular she seemed unenthusiastic in her teasing. Still scratching his head, Steve busied himself with preparations for the imminent morning rush. It wasn't until the end of their shift that he suddenly remembered something he had wanted to tell Natasha when he first walked in.

"Oh, you won't believe what happened to me yesterday - " Steve started to say, only to be cut off by a loud whoop.

"Yooooo, Tasha!" a man cried as he swaggered into the coffee shop.

"Hey, Mike," Natasha greeted brightly.

"Mike?" echoed Steve, who, after seeing the bandanna and the chain on his pants, recognized him as the guy who had grossly flirted with Natasha before.

"What are you doing here?" Natasha questioned, ignoring the waves of confusion coming from Steve.

"Finals week is almost upon us," replied Mike. "I've gotta start my days earlier so I can study. Plus, I wanted an excuse to see a fine young lady who works here."

"Oh, and who would that be?" Natasha inquired innocently as she twisted a curl with her pinkie.

Mike rested his elbow on the counter and leaned his scruffy face closer to Natasha, who mirrored his actions until their noses almost touched.

"Why, it would be the girl with the fire-red hair and sexy, sexy body right in front of me," Mike answered.

Steve had felt up to that point like he was going to throw up, but when he saw Mike's eyes trailing down from Natasha's face and his hand moving toward her, he was ready to kill. Moving far quicker than either Natasha or Mike could imagine, Steve leaped forward, grabbed Mike's wrist, and threw it down to the counter.

"Rogers!" admonished Natasha. "Would you keep your caveman instincts under control?"

"Eh, it's all right," dismissed Mike. "We can pick things up were we left off later."

After giving her one last once-over, Mike winked and sauntered back out of the shop without even bothering to order like he said he would. Steve doubted that he had wanted coffee at all, anyway.

"How could you do this, Natasha?" Steve demanded angrily.

"Do what?" Natasha asked dully as she adjusted the position of the tip jar and avoided Steve's accusing stare.

"You said he wasn't your type," reminded Steve, "and you were right. He's not good enough for you."

"Yes, he is," asserted Natasha, who finally turned around to look at Steve directly. "Actually, he's better than me. Everyone is better than me. I've known that all my life, and I've come to accept it. Why can't you?"

"Because it's not true!" Steve exclaimed passionately.

As he said this, he stepped closer to Natasha, until he was practically flush against her; Natasha instantly found it a hundred times more difficult to keep her composure in front of him.

"You are beautiful and brilliant and sarcastic and sneaky and funny," Steve continued. "Just because your first boyfriend treated you so wrongly, it doesn't mean you deserve for every guy to do that to you. You deserve someone who will treat you decently - like a person, not an object."

"It's not like I don't treat guys like objects," Natasha pointed out. "My habit is to see a guy almost every weekend."

_"At least until I met _you_,"_ thought Natasha; she hadn't realized until now how little she had actually dated since she became friends with Steve.

Steve sighed. "Okay, so maybe going through man after man without thinking is a good way not to get hurt. But you know what? It's a terrible way to fall in love."

"Love?" sputtered Natasha, feeling panic rise up as she remembered that ill-omened arrow necklace. "Love is for children."

How many times had she said that sentence? How many times had she not believed it when she said it? One.

"No, no it's not," insisted Steve. "If you ever met a guy who could prove you wrong, who could show you what it's like to love exclusively and unconditionally, with the way you're living you'll be too busy to realize you could have the real deal until it's too late. You'll have lost him forever."

Natasha searched for anything in her artillery to fire back at Steve - a jibe, a retort, anything! - but she found nothing.

As Natasha watched Steve walk away, she murmured in a wavering voice, "I think I just did lose him."

* * *

Clint was behind the counter the next day, glaring pointedly at a cool and collected Natasha as she entered the coffee shop.

"Steve isn't here," said Natasha, stating the obvious.

"No, I am." Also stating the obvious.

Clint knew how to wait Natasha out to get her to talk, but that day he frankly did not have the patience to do it.

"How long are we going to dance around the fact that you and Steve are fighting?" asked Clint.

"Wow, you really do see everything, don't you Hawkeye?" Natasha teased, adopting Tony's nickname for Clint ever since the laser tag trip.

"Tasha," growled Clint.

"What? We're not fighting, we just had a small quarrel yesterday."

"So small that Steve had a lengthy conversation with Nick about changing his shift to avoid working with you?"

Natasha stopped. "I didn't know he did that."

"No, of course not. But now that you do, what are you going to do about it?"

"If you're trying to get me to unleash a battle cry or something, you can just forget it."

"I talked to Tony. He says Steve hasn't been this depressed since Kate - he's even more depressed, in fact."

"I have no idea why. I can think of a really, really good reason for him to be the happiest guy that ever lived."

"What reason would that be?"

"Like I'm going to tell you. You're the Hawkeye. Go and investigate, point your beak of a nose into everything."

Clint grunted; he finally accepted that it was pointless to hack away at Natasha's wall, but maybe Steve would be a little softer.

* * *

Nope, he wasn't. All Steve would say was that he needed time to get over it, and then one day, maybe he would call on Natasha. What the "it" was that Steve needed to get over - that was the question that Clint could not gain the answer of. But despite general opinion, Clint was not stupid. He had a pretty firm guess as to what was going on between his two closest friends, if his keen eyes were as faithful as he thought. Clint was positive he was only one of many who noticed the vibrating tension between Steve and Natasha whenever they were in a room together. Even Bobbi asked him in passing if they had ever had a "thing."

When he gave Natasha the arrow necklace, he had hoped that he would be the one who shot it into her heart - a fact that he didn't plan on telling anyone about, especially Natasha. However, things had changed drastically since that misguided, lovesick wish of his. Natasha became his honorary sister, and Steve had done what everyone thought was impossible: win the Black Widow's heart. Not that the blundering football player had any idea, or that he would consider her affections something to be "won," but that's exactly what he did in Clint's opinion. He had through grueling effort gained Natasha's trust, climbing higher and higher until he reached - what? Something more? And Steve had done it without any goal in mind, any obstacle he intended to conquer. He just did it because he really liked (loved?) her. That was it.

This was Clint's opinion when he came knocking on the door to Steve's apartment on a day he knew Steve wouldn't be home. Tony answered the door and made all kinds of snarky archer jokes about Katniss and Legolas and other people - until Clint finally blurted, "We need to talk about Steve and Nat!" Tony, much to Clint's surprise, became suddenly serious, stepped aside, and said gravely, "Come in." When Clint had settled down on a chair, Tony sat across from him and looked at him expectantly. Clint had hoped this would happen, but now that he had actually come to this point he wasn't sure what to say.

Finally he said, "Steve and Natasha had a fight."

"Yeah, good inside info, Hawkeye," Tony replied sarcastically. "Did you dig up any other groundbreaking news?"

"Okay, but it's clear that you know why, and I know why they fought. They have feelings, but Steve's already been burned and Natasha can't admit anything. They need… They need…"

"An intervention!" exclaimed Tony, slamming his hands down on the armrests and pushing himself up to a stand.

Clint was still recovering from Tony's outburst when Tony marched over to where his phone was charging and began calling someone on speed dial.

Finally Clint blinked and asked, "Who are you calling?"

"Pepper," answered Tony. "We need a woman's devious mind for this project."

* * *

"Why not send each of them an apology note from the other?" suggested Clint.

Tony and Pepper shook their heads.

"We're trying to do more than get them to make up," reminded Tony. "Besides, they would both see through that trick in a second."

"There has to be something that means enough to both of them to bring them together," said Pepper.

The three paused to let the mechanics of their minds work, and suddenly Tony gasped.

"I know the perfect thing!" he cried. "Come with me."

Tony led Pepper and Clint down the corridor, but when he went inside Steve's bedroom they stood stock-still. Tony glanced at them inquiringly, while they stared stupidly at him for a few moments.

"Oh, I'm sorry, you _want _to take us to our deaths?" Clint at last said.

"Steve doesn't like us in his room," Pepper reminded timidly.

"It's for a good cause, okay?" reassured Tony. "Now come on."

The three friends stopped in front of a covered canvas, and when Tony drew back the cloth, Clint and Pepper gasped.

"It's the piece that won the art contest Steve mentioned," informed Tony. "This was supposed to be in the student art gallery, for all the art students to exhibit their stuff. Steve asked his professor to withdraw it from the gallery."

"Do you mean the gallery that I work at?" asked Pepper, although she knew well the answer.

"So we have the painting, and we have special access to the gallery…" Clint trailed off and looked at a nodding, grinning Tony. "Oh man, you really are a genius!"

"Don't say that too often, or his head will explode," warned Pepper.

"Let's put my brilliant plan into action," said Tony.

* * *

Tony had to skip a class in order to make a stop at his apartment before the gallery opened; if that didn't prove how self-sacrificing, giving, and all-around amazing of a person Tony was, well, Tony didn't know what could. Never mind that he despised the professor more than any other human being in the world and would do anything to tick him off. Tony was mentally coming up with many colorful adjectives to describe this professor when he came into the apartment and found Steve wearing sweats and watching TV on their couch. Tony stopped and gawked at him, until Steve finally noticed him staring and looked at him inquiringly.

"What are you doing?" demanded Tony. "You're supposed to be getting ready to go to the gallery."

"My mom couldn't get off work early, so we were going to go later on," answered Steve. "Why?"

Tony, who suddenly realized how suspicious he was acting, composed himself and thought quickly.

"Because Pepper and I wanted to go see you at the gallery now," Tony explained. "I have to meet some guys to work on our final project later tonight, and Pepper has something going on later, too. We thought we could get some food after we saw your art."

"Oh, well I guess I can just go again with my mom later," said Steve. "If you guys really insist."

"We do," nodded Tony.

* * *

"You want me to come with you?" Natasha asked disbelievingly. "Why would you want me to go with you to see your girlfriend's ceramics stuff?"

"Because I've never seen her work before," Clint said, "so I don't know if she's actually not that good."

"I'm sure they wouldn't put it out in the gallery if it was that awful."

"What if one of her pieces is supposed to be something, and I guess wrong? How am I supposed to dig myself out of that pit? Or what if - "

"All right, don't get so worked up. If it's stressing you out that much, I'll come."

"Thank you."

"You must really like her if you're this desperate to please her."

"I do," said Clint, who winked and added, "And it's the most glorious feeling I've ever had."

* * *

"_How did they rope me into this?_" Sam thought as he stood in front of Steve's artwork. "_One minute I'm doing my morning jog, the next Clint is convincing me to stand and stare at people for an hour_."

Sam had been assigned a post next to Steve's work at the gallery, and to give the signal when either Clint, Bobbi and Natasha or Tony, Pepper and Steve came. They had to time it just right, so if either two groups came in early, he would signal for them to stall. Sam had to go to the bathroom so badly it hurt, and he shifted back and forth impatiently while he waited for his friends. Finally, Sam perceived Steve's head above the crowd (it was a good thing the man was giant), and saw Tony trying to catch his eye a moment later. Sam shook his head and crossed his arms, so Tony swerved in front of Steve to block him from going a step farther.

Steve frowned and asked, "What's wrong, Tony?"

"I was just wondering..." Tony trailed off, staring at Steve as his mind whirred.

"Yes?" Steve said awkwardly after several moments.

"I was just wondering how you got your hair to look like that," Tony finally said. "It's so neat and well-done. Did you start using a new gel?"

"Okay Tony, what's the deal?" demanded Steve in annoyance. "First you acted so impatient to get me over here so we could all look at the artwork, and now you're acting like you don't even care about it."

"I'm sorry, I'm just _really_ into your hair."

A snort from Pepper that she simply couldn't suppress caused Steve to turn around and look at her with puzzlement.

"What's so funny?" he asked.

"Oh, it's no-o-oh, look at that!" stammered Pepper. "It's Sam, let's go over there RIGHT NOW!"

Tony and Pepper began pushing a very befuddled Steve to Sam, who was jerking his head violently and looking at them with wide eyes.

"You guys are so weird!" exclaimed Steve.

Meanwhile, Natasha tapped Clint's shoulder and asked, "What do you think's wrong with Sam? He looks like he's having a seizure."

"Uh... oh gee let's - let's go find out!" Clint answered jerkily, as he and Bobbi picked up the pace.

"_Strange_," thought Natasha.

Steve, Tony, Pepper were coming towards Sam from one direction, while Clint, Bobbi, and Natasha were coming from the other. His eyes warily flicked back and forth between them, until finally, when they were only a few feet away, he stepped away from the painting. Once he did, all eyes gravitated to it instinctively, and Steve and Natasha inhaled sharply. They saw the painting that Steve had shown to Natasha before, the self-portrait that Natasha said needed something extra. That something extra was a very small but very distinct black spider that hung from a string of web. What undeniably identified the spider was the red spot on its abdomen, which glinted with the light from the window next to it. It was a Black Widow spider. Above the painting was a title that spelled out in simple black letters: "The Lonely Souls Found Each Other."

When they had finished gawking at the painting, Steve turned to his left and Natasha turned to her right. Their eyes connected, and an invisible beam of energy seemed to be running between them while they slowly stepped toward each other. Their friends gathered in a tight, worried, expectant semi-circle while they waited for whatever they would do next. They stopped when they were a foot apart from each other, not seeming to know whether to hug each other, smack each other, or kiss each other senseless. Natasha pointed to the painting without withdrawing her gaze from Steve and cocked her head slightly sideways.

"Did you mean to put that piece here?" she inquired quietly.

"No," answered Steve softly.

Natasha dropped her hand. "Why did you stop talking to me?"

Steve swallowed thickly, wanting to look away as he answered, but finding himself unable to break their mutual gaze.

At last, he said honestly, "Because I couldn't handle being just friends anymore."

"Me neither."

The answer came out so quickly, it startled both Natasha and Steve, but Natasha didn't regret it.

"Is there anything going on with you and Peggy?" Natasha asked.

Steve blinked. "What? No. She was in town, and we had lunch with Kate, but that was all."

"Oh."

"Is there something between you and Mike?"

"No. I was going to go out with him, but I couldn't go through with it."

"Oh. Okay."

A few more seconds of silent staring, and Natasha realized that during their conversation, they had come so close to each other that Steve's teasing mouth was only some inches away.

"Don't you have any more questions?" asked Natasha breathlessly.

"No, I think I'm good," answered Steve huskily.

"Then…" Natasha swallowed and glanced at Steve's mouth. "Why don't you kiss me?"

"Because I'm waiting for you to make the first move."

Natasha didn't need to be told anything else; she slung her arms around his neck and pulled him down for his lips to find hers. Steve didn't hold back either, sliding his arms around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and kissing her more deeply and tenderly than she remembered ever being kissed. Everything was Steve, Steve, Steve, until Natasha had to come out for breath. Panting, they leaned their foreheads against each other and smiled with a mixture of awe, shock, and utter affection.

"Steve..." Natasha whispered.

Steve made that little smile that Natasha always secretly adored and murmured, "I think that's the first time you've called me by my first name."

They both chuckled, and went in for another kiss. Meanwhile, their friends were high-fiving each other and congratulating themselves on a matchmaking well done. (Natasha made a mental note to thank them, after lecturing them about how it was her job to be a matchmaker, not them). In his excitement, Clint sealed his mouth with Bobbi's in a sweet kiss, which Tony and Pepper noticed as they clapped for Steve and Natasha. Tony looked at Clint and Bobbi, then at Steve and Natasha, then back at Clint and Bobbi, and then finally at Pepper. His eyebrows were raised suggestively, but almost as soon as he turned to her, Pepper said sternly, "No."

"Well, I mean everyone else is doing it, so I thought maybe - "

Tony, for once, totally forgot what he was going to say when Pepper interrupted him with a kiss on the cheek. He stopped mid-clap and looked at Pepper with eyes so large they practically took up his whole face. Sam, meanwhile, looked awkwardly at all the couples around him and again wondered how they got him roped into this apparent hormone fest. Being the dauntless, chipper man he was, however, he decided to let it go and simply be happy for the couple he intended to see. Steve and Natasha were blissfully ignorant of all of this, and felt a kind of happiness in their chests that they didn't think they would ever feel again.

"Can we go on a real date now?" begged Steve.

Natasha grinned. "Depends… are you paying?"

* * *

**Me: Nat, you _would _say that! As if the only thing you cared about was who was paying!**

**Natasha: Hey, it's a very important question.**

**Steve: Weird, because you haven't _let_ me pay on any of our dates since the first one.**

**Natasha: I decided to let you have it your way on the first date, since you're all traditional. But now I want to pay.**

**Steve: Well, so do I.**

**Natasha: Okay, next time we'll do rock-paper-scissors to decide.**

**Steve: Deal.**

**Me: Hey guys, I'm still here!**

**Steve: Sorry. But really, what else do you have to say at this point?**

**Me: I just want to tell my readers that you've all been really great in supporting this story. I believe that out of all my FanFictions, this one has the most followers EVER and the second most reviews. That's all thanks to you, folks! I'm sure Natasha and Steve also appreciate it.**

**Steve: That we do.**

**Natasha: It's cool yet weird to know that so many people ship us.**

**Me: Okay, the epilogue will be up soon, so be sure to come back for that. Otherwise, have an awesome day! Bye!**


	13. Epilogue: An Era of Peace

**Wow, I took way longer to update this than I thought I would. I _planned_ on posting the epilogue a couple days after I uploaded the last chapter, but then college was like HAHAHAHA NO. Anyway, I seriously felt bummed finishing the last chapter, so you can imagine my sadness writing the epilogue to finally wrap things up. It's really short, but I honestly couldn't think of anything else I wanted to add to it.**

* * *

Natasha's mind could hardly grasp it; she actually felt… normal. She was resting her head on Steve's (very comfortable) shoulder, and allowing his arm to wrap gently around her shoulder to pull her more tightly to himself. His constant inhale and exhale relaxed her to the point that she would have fallen asleep - if she wasn't so engrossed in the movie they were watching. Natasha shifted slightly and reached for Steve's free hand to absent-mindedly play with his fingers. Her hand looked so small and slender compared to his, but this fact didn't make her feel weak or tiny next to him. On the contrary, she reveled in their differences and was confident that she could pull as much as he pushed, and vice versa. They may have started dating, but they were friends first, and neither was better or more important than the other. They both had their strengths and their faults, which each knew they had to accept in the other.

When the credits began rolling, neither Steve nor Natasha made any indication that they had a desire to move a centimeter from their current position. Their movie night had become so routine that Natasha hadn't even bothered texting before arriving at his doorstep. Tony hastily tried to clear out, but Steve felt better about having someone else around in the apartment. At any rate, neither Steve nor Natasha would have felt great about booting Tony out of his own apartment. Therefore, Natasha could hear faint rock music and hard typing sounds from Tony's room down the hall. Natasha smiled and exhaled a soft laugh that melted into Steve's shirt as she pressed her face to his chest. Steve lightly pulled on a few strands of her hair and nudged her questioningly.

"What is it?" he asked curiously.

"I was just thinking about Tony and the others," Natasha said, "and how they set us up on the day we got together."

"Oh," laughed Steve.

After a few moments of comfortable quiet, Steve laughed again.

"Now what are _you_ laughing about?" questioned Natasha, who poked him on the side, where she knew he was ticklish.

Steve pushed Natasha's hand away before asking, "Did I ever tell you about the time you came to my house for dinner?"

"What about it?"

"I knew you were standing in front of the door for five minutes."

"WHAT?"

Natasha hadn't thought it was possible for her to ever feel mortified, but oh did she feel it now! Maybe, since it had skipped over her during her high school years and most of her college career, mortification decided to strike a full blow right now just for the simple, sadistic pleasure of it.

"I watched you stand there, looking unsure about even opening the door _for a simple dinner_," chuckled Steve.

"You and I both know it was way more than that - "

"Shush, I'm telling you the story. Anyway, you looked so torn about coming in or not, but I was even more torn about whether or not I should open the door. I mean, if you just _left_ and I let you, I knew I'd probably regret it forever. But if I opened the door on you, I would be the one pushing the whole time. I had to let you come to me on your own terms."

"How did you even know I was there?"

Now it was Steve's turn to be embarrassed.

"I was looking for you through a crack between the blinds in my mom's room. It gives a really good view of the front door. I sat by that window for half an hour until you showed up."

"Oh my gosh, I did the same thing when you came!" Natasha cried.

"No!" gasped Steve.

"Yes!" exclaimed Natasha, and they both burst out laughing.

"Oh my gosh, we're such _dorks_," Steve said, shaking his head.

"I blame you," stated Natasha.

"Me? How can you blame me for this?"

"You made me a sap. You even got me to _kiss_ you. In public."

"Ugh, feelings!" fake-gagged Steve, who was struggling not to laugh again.

"Yes, _feelings_," emphasized Natasha with mock disgust.

"Do you remember my mother's face when she saw us at the gallery holding hands?"

"Oh my gosh, it was the best reaction ever!"

"…Until she started asking when we were going to get married and have kids."

Steve flushed with embarrassment at the thought, and Natasha couldn't resist making his blush deepen.

"Dad still has the voice mail you and your mom left when I slept over," Natasha told him.

That sentence achieved Natasha's desired result.

"What did you hear?" he asked hurriedly.

"Take a guess," smirked Natasha. "And your mom was right. You haven't taken advantage of me _yet_, but remember I know a few jujitsu moves."

Steve shuddered at the image of a full-blown Natasha attack, and gripped her hand more tightly; in response, Natasha cuddled closer to him, amazed that the action was so natural to her.

Steve sighed. "Do you know what I'm grateful for?"

"What?"

"Coffee."

"Coffee?!"

"Yes, coffee. And do you know why I'm grateful for coffee?"

"No, why?"

"Because my insatiable need for it drove me to the coffee shop - _our_ coffee shop - every day. If it weren't for that, I wouldn't have met Sam, or Clint, or…" Natasha raised her eyebrows. "Kate."

Natasha gasped and slapped Steve hard on the chest. "I can't believe you said that!"

"Oh, did you expect me to say 'you'?" Steve asked with pretend surprise in his voice.

"Grrrrrrrr!"

Before Natasha could tear his eyes out, Steve said hastily, "I'm sorry, but if I had said 'you,' you would've teased me for being cheesy again."

"I - " Natasha snapped her mouth shut, then sighed frustratedly. "Okay, so maybe that's true, but as my boyfriend you are still obligated to say it."

"I'm sorry, I lost my copy of the How to Be a Boyfriend Manual. I'm kinda winging it here."

"So am I."

Steve smiled and leaned his face so close to hers that she thought he was going to kiss her. However, he stopped several centimeters short and dug into her heart once again with his penetrating blue gaze.

"Natasha?" he whispered.

"Hm?"

"I am very grateful for you. Always grateful."

Their lips touched, and Natasha smiled in a way that Steve didn't think he had seen before.

"Me too, Steve."

* * *

**Okay, that's the end of CWIACS. Again, thank you so so much for your positive reviews. Even if all you did was favorite or follow, you have been an invisible but very encouraging support to me. I've noticed that as my writing skills have progressed, my stories on this site get longer and get more attention. It's definitely a good sign, and I look forward to writing more in the future.**


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